


A Different Kind of Here

by rosyy



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Connorandzoe, Depression, F/F, Fluff, Galaxy Gals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Panic Attacks, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Stranger Things AU, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Superpowers, Trauma, Tree Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosyy/pseuds/rosyy
Summary: The kid wraps the jacket around his shivering frame. He isn’t exactly wearing it right, but Connor doesn’t think that he’ll be allowed close enough to correct it. The boy relaxes just a little bit and glances to the side, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, now.“Holy shit,” Jared says from the back.On the same day that Connor Murphy plans to kill himself, Alana Beck goes missing, Zoe decides to be an idiot, and Jared tags along, just for fun. None of them expect to pull some shivering kid out of the woods, and none of them expect said kid to have the missing links to finding Alana.





	1. alana beck goes missing

**Author's Note:**

> general tw, this thing will contain a lot of swearing, suicidal ideation, all that fun stuff that comes with deh? if you're unsure or have any questions please message me on [tumblr](http://dustyspacekid.tumblr.com) and I am very friendly and will be happy to answer! take care
> 
> edit 1/15/18: this thing is being translated into Spanish which is super cool if anyone is interested!! check it out [here](https://www.wattpad.com/522585843-a-different-kind-of-here-tree-bros-dear-evan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively, this is what happens when I realize that the names "Evan" and "Eleven" sound very similar
> 
> before we start!! I want to clarify that this is an AU, but not a crossover. it doesn't take place in the 80s, it doesn't have any of the ST characters, and you do not need to have watched the show to understand what is going on. you can still enjoy and understand this if you haven't heard of stranger things before in your life. we'll see how this goes I guess, I really hope you all enjoy!

Connor wakes up on the morning of September 7th with the knowledge that it’s the last time he ever will.

He lights a joint, like any rational person bearing knowledge of this size would, and smokes it until the pit in his stomach is only roughly the size of a tennis ball. There's a pounding at his door.

"Connor, get up, you have school," Larry calls, with the loving, parental croon that Connor has gotten so used to.  _Jokes on you because I'm going to kill myself later,_ but, y'know.

“I’m not going to school,” he yells back, except his nest of sheets has gotten kind of sweaty so he climbs out of it anyway. His body gets dressed and he shuffles it downstairs in search of cereal.

"Zoe, get off your phone and _eat,_ I don’t want you to be late for-- oh, Connor!” Cynthia grins tiredly. “Come and have breakfast. You look so nice, are you ready for your first day of--”

“I’m not going,” he cuts her off, briskly, ruffling through boxes along the counter in search of Bran Flakes. Cynthia's smile fades.

“What do you mean you’re not going?” she asks, with a sort of worn exasperation that says she knows exactly what he means. They are out of cereal. Connor grabs a bag of Chex Mix, because Chex Mix involves cereal, he's pretty sure.

Connor rolls his eyes and sits down with his Chex Mix. “What does it sound like? I’m tired. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“It’s your senior year, Connor, you are not missing the--”

The phone begins to ring loudly, with impressive timing, cutting off her argument. Cynthia sighs heavily.

“Larry, please talk to him,” she orders, grabbing the phone. “Hello...? Oh, Birdie.”

Without looking up from his computer, Larry grumbles something along the lines of, “You have to go to school, Connor.” Connor ignores him with practiced ease. There is a loose thread by the zipper of his jacket-- he pulls it until it's taught, then wraps it around his finger and yanks it out. He's gonna die, later.

“Hm?” Cynthia says puzzledly into the phone, and Connor watches her frown. She has her face scrunched up a little like she's thinking hard about something. “No, I…” She pauses, covering the phone and turning to her daughter, who is sitting across from Connor, bored and tired and picking apart her off-brand Pop-tart. “Zoe, Alana didn’t sleep over last night, did she?”

“What? No. She left when you told her to,” Zoe responds, sparing Cynthia a glance of narrow curiosity. Connor digs around for a properly seasoned Chex, only partly focusing on the conversation.

“No, she left around ten o’clock last night,” Cynthia relays back into the phone. “Why? Didn’t she come home?”

Zoe sits up, suddenly alarmed. “What? Mom, what?”

Cynthia ignores her, listening. “Right. Gosh, I hope so, that’s just so unlike her…”

Zoe is making frantic gestures in the back. Cynthia holds up a finger, turning away from her rudely. “Absolutely. Please, let us know if there’s any way we can help, alright? I mean it. Anything you need.”

A pause.

“Alright. I’ll give you a call the second I know anything.”

Another pause. Cynthia is nodding.

“Alright, bye-bye.” Cynthia hangs up.

Zoe immediately launches into a frenzy. “Alana didn’t make it home last night? What?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t worry,” Cynthia says, shaking her head and smiling unreassuringly. “I'm sure it's absolutely nothing."

Larry is still looking at her questioningly, and she shoots him a pointed look-- universal for _shut up, we’ll talk later._ Zoe doesn’t miss it.

“Wait, are you kidding me? Is my best friend missing or not?” she demands. Connor steals her orange juice, and she doesn't notice. Or care.

Cynthia clicks her tongue. “She is not _missing,_ Zoe, she just-- oh, Connor, be careful of where you put that, you don’t want it to spill on your father’s laptop--”

Zoe lets out some purely teenage noise between a scoff and a groan. Larry frowns at her.

“Zoe, don’t be childish,” he says waspishly. “You’re giving your brother a ride to school today, by the way. I don’t like him driving when he’s high.”

“What?” Zoe and Cynthia both say. Zoe branches off to, “You can’t be serious.” While Cynthia says, “He is not high!”

“Connor said he’s not going to school,” Zoe argues.

“He’s going.” Cynthia frowns. “Connor, are you high?”

Connor, who is high, shrugs.

“Oh, my god.”

Zoe looks like she’s ready to explode. “Why is no one talking about the fact that Alana is missing?”

“Zoe, _please,_ you know as much as I do.” Cynthia glances at the clock, clearly begging the world for an escape. She looks relieved when she reads the bright green 7:51. “I promise we can talk more later, but the two of you are going to be late.”

Zoe sends one last helpless, angry glance around the table-- even to Connor, who raises a questioning eyebrow, because what does she expect him to do? She rolls her eyes and stands up, shrugging on her stuff and marching to the door.

“She’s not going to wait for you, Connor,” Larry mutters, taking a bite of toast. “And I’m not going to tell you again.”

Connor wants to flip him off, but he's not even looking, so the effect is sort of dead. He does it anyway. Connor shoulders his bag and heads off to follow his sister.

“Have an amazing first day, I love you both!” Cynthia calls, though her tone is narrower when she adds, “And Connor, I am not happy that you were smoking again before school.”

“I’m not going to school,” he calls over his shoulder, walking out the front door. Zoe doesn't say anything.

 

The short ride over to the high school is filled to the brim with tension, of course, although Connor isn’t very bothered by it. He stares out the window, eyes hopping between road signs as Zoe glares holes into the the windshield. Her fingers keep tapping the wheel, which is fucking annoying, but-- well, but nothing. It's just annoying.

“You didn’t-- this is such a stupid question, but you didn’t see anything, right?” she pipes up suddenly. Connor slowly turns to look at her.

“...What?”

“With Alana. You didn’t-- you weren’t out, were you? You didn’t see her after she left?” Zoe has this look like she knows she’s dropping a match into a puddle of gasoline. Connor rolls his eyes.

“Obviously fucking not,” he retorts, “I was in my room the whole time, so unless she’s hiding out in there--”

“ _Okay,_ okay, jesus, I said it was dumb, forget it.” Zoe huffs. She’s simultaneously cursing herself and looking like she wants to punch something. “Go back to sulking."

Uncharacteristically, Connor has no response to this. He turns back to the window.

“Calm down,” he murmurs. “She probably had a hookup, or something. She’s not dead.”

Zoe’s anger intensifies, if possible. “She wouldn’t-- Connor, you _know_ me and her-- even if we _weren’t--_ actually, no, you know what?” Zoe jerks her head, forcedly trying to collect herself. “I don’t need to explain anything to you. Fuck you.”

“Hm," Connor agrees.

The rest of the car ride is silent.

 

School happens. School is. Through most of it, Connor sits in the back contemplating his impending doom and staring at people’s screens as they text one another or watch Netflix. And while he’s sort of curious about the whole Alana situation, that’s not really where his mind is at, considering what he’s planning to do, later. She definitely isn’t there, and it’s noticeable-- Alana is a presence, at school. However, the topic of _why_ she’s absent only comes up once-- when a couple of cops walk into his biology and ask to speak with him.

Connor’s first thought is,  _oh, good, we love a good Connor-Murphy-got-arrested-finally rumor,_ and his second thought is  _thank god I can leave this class early._   _What the fuck_ doesn't occur before third. He stands up and quietly shoves his handout into the growing cacophony of papers inside his bag.

“Nothing to worry about, just come with us, please,” one of cops says. Connor nods awkwardly. They head down to the office, through empty, yellow corridors, Connor itching the entire way, wondering if he’s about to be searched. It’s not the worst thing that could happen, considering, like-- y'know. But still, why does all this drama have to pop up _today?_ It’ll be significantly more difficult to sneak off with his parents watching him like hawks, and he’d rather not delay the plan.

When they open the door and step inside the office, he’s confused to find that Zoe and some asshole kid Connor recognizes from a couple of his classes (and what probably qualifies as catcalling in the hallway, ex. “Nice to see that beautiful smile,” and “Wow, skinny jeans or leg corsets?”) are already sitting there, waiting.

“Have a seat,” one of the policemen says. Warily, Connor does.

“Now, no one is in any trouble,” the same one begins. “My name is Officer Bay. This is Officer Cabello. We’d like to ask you all a few questions regarding a classmate of yours, Alana Beck.”

“I knew it,” Zoe whispers, at the same time Connor is like, _oh_. She sniffles loudly.

“Supposedly, your house is the last place she was seen,” Cabello says to Zoe and Connor. “Are you already aware of this?”

Connor nods. “Her mom called,” Zoe explains, “but our parents won’t tell us anything.”

“Why is he here?” Connor asks bluntly, pointing at Asshole Kid (Jason? Jason.), who’s yet to say a word. Actually, he’s just been sort of… glaring? At nothing, which is. Weird. Definitely weird. Noticing that he’s been acknowledged, his frown deepens.

“I’m her neighbor, dickwad. And her friend. Why are _you_ here?”

Connor leans forward, an incredulous eyebrow raised. He’s about to retort, but Cabello cuts in.

“ _Hey,_ let’s keep this professional,” she says loudly. “You guys are old enough to do that, right?” The way she asks this implies that she does not, in fact, think they are old enough. On the other hand, Connor is not about to get into an argument with the police-- not today, at least, and so he settles back down reluctantly.

“Now,” Bay breaks in, “can you tell us how your friend was planning to get home? Was she walking, driving, biking--”

“Walking,” Zoe answers stiffly.

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” Cabello writes it down in this little notebook. “You’re sure she was planning to head home?” she asks, and the question must be directed at Zoe, but Connor swears that she’s glaring at him.

“Yes? Where else would she be going?” Zoe frowns. Bay and Cabello exchange a look.

“Well, was she acting nervous or suspiciously before leaving your house, does she have a history of behaving rebelliously--” Bay elaborates.

Connor snickers. Alana Beck, the rebel. The legend.

“No!” Zoe cries, clearly not finding the image as funny as Connor does. “She never sneaks around, this isn’t-- she didn’t run away on purpose, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You, can you confirm?” Cabello points her pen at Jason, who looks up.

“What?” he utters stupidly.

“They’re asking if Alana is a _rebel,_ ” Zoe mutters, spitting the word “rebel” like it’s blasphemy.

“Oh, um.” He blinks a few times, and then the world’s axis must shift, because he actually cracks a _smile._ “Lana? No way.”

Cabello purses her lips and hums, a little disapprovingly, like that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Still, she scribbles it down.

“Jared, is it?” Bay speaks up. _Jared,_ right, Jared Kleinman. Jared Kleinman the asshole. “Would you mind telling us a little about Alana’s home life? How is her relationship with her family?”

Jared blinks, looking sort of taken aback. "What, you want to know if her parents beat her?"

Zoe, seeming slightly offended, jumps in before either officer can. “I already told you, there’s no reason Alana would’ve run away. That’s not what this is. She’s really close with both of her moms.” She speaks almost defiantly, arms crossed, head down in this stubborn way she’s had since childhood. The officers look annoyed. They more or less try to ignore her, still waiting for Jared’s response. It takes him a moment to realize.

“Oh, me?” He sits up, smiling like he’d just been told a penis joke. His brow furrows briefly. “No, her parents are fine. They’re great, it’s all one big party in the Beck household. Yeah. No need to call, like, child services or anything."

The cops seem exasperated, but they aren’t going to push it. “Alright,” Bay sighs, and Cabello writes some more. “I’ll-- I’ll accept that. So, in the case that something really did happen to her on the way home--”

Zoe opens her mouth, ready to interject, but Bay raises his voice over hers.

“-- _how long_ would that walk have taken? Ah!” He raises a silencing hand when Zoe is about to speak, and then points at Connor, who is the quiet angel, or something. “I want you to answer.”

Connor blinks, and frowns. “Me? I don’t fucking know, I don’t go over there. Zoe’s the one--”

Bay interrupts frustratedly. His final hope for a normal, easy answer has crumbled, but it’s not Connor’s fault that he doesn’t know anything. Also, fuck the police, kinda. “ _Fine,_ alright. You, go ahead, then.”

“She’s a little less than half a mile away from our place,” Zoe says, quick and simple. She’s looking at the floor. “It’s a ten minute walk. Maybe fifteen.”

Cabello writes it down.

“And do you know what route she takes?”

Zoe purses her lips, focusing. “...Um, yeah,” she says slowly, chipping at her nail polish. “She goes down our street-- Myrtle-- and then she goes right, onto Buttonwood, and goes straight for a while until Linden-- I’m not going too fast, am I?”

Cabello waves her on without looking up from the notepad.

“Okay. She goes left onto Linden, and then keeps going straight, and then her house is on Lawrence.”

“Myrtle, Buttonwood, Linden, Lawrence,” Cabello recites. “Is that correct?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Zoe answers, leg bouncing nervously. It takes a surprising amount of self-restraint for Connor not to reach over and hold it still.

Cabello and Bay look at one another, and Bay nods. Cabello flips the notebook shut.

“Okay, kids,” Cabello sighs, “is there anything else you think we should know?”

The question might as well be rhetorical. She and Bay are already standing up.

“We’ll be in touch with your parents, so you can always let us know--”

“I’m sorry,” Zoe stands up, “but when are you going to start the actual search?” Her tone conveys something cold, hard and unapologetic. Apparently, Zoe has decided that today is Be Fucking Touchy With The Cops Day, Seriously, You’re Toeing The Line Here, Zo.

“We aren’t answering any questions. Sorry.” Cabello doesn’t look very sorry. Zoe looks even less sorry, and Connor pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated and kind of embarrassed, fighting the instinct to grab his sister’s arm and pull her back down from her fuming cloud. Some feeling, like eerie deja-vu, stirs in his gut. He can't imagine why.

“You’re not gonna tell us anything?” Zoe’s brows knit.

“We’ll be releasing information as soon as we have it,” Bay sighs. “For now, ask your parents.”

“But I’m not asking for that kind of information, I just wanna know when--”

Bay steps forward. “Do you really want to stand here and argue with me?” he questions, and Zoe’s eyes widen by a fraction. “Ask your parents. That’s all I’m gonna say. You guys are dismissed.” He stares at Zoe until she moves to get her bag. She’s pissed. _That’s what you get,_ Connor doesn’t quite say.

“Thanks for your time,” Bay grunts as they file out. It’s left at that.

“Hey, Zoe Murphy, right?” Jared smiles, holding the door open.

Zoe glances at him as she steps through. “Yeah. We’ve met, Jared,” she says, not exactly dismissively, but her voice contains a sore lack of enthusiasm.

Jared shrugs. “Yeah, like, once.” He lets go of the door just in time for it to swing in Connor’s face. Connor flails unattractively to catch it, and murdering Jared is officially on his bucket list.

“Alana talks about you all the time, though,” he says. “Seriously, she’s borderline obsessed. You would think the two of you were secretly getting it on, or something.” He laughs.

There’s a silent pause.

“Well anyway,” Jared says loudly. He spiels off into some other shit about Alana, and studying with Alana, and his project that Alana saved his grade on for some class last year, and Connor can see Zoe slowly unraveling and actually listening and even _laughing_ with Jared, to his surprise and what must be her own. Now, Connor doesn’t really know Alana minus glances at the dinner table and failed (though persistent) attempts at conversation on her part, but as Jared goes on, Connor is able to picture it less and less. Alana Beck, in all of her poised glory, hanging out with Jared Kleinman, a bitch. It doesn’t match up. Clearly, Connor is missing some puzzle piece, here.

Kleinman glances at Connor momentarily, as if to say _why are you still standing there?_ and Connor remembers that he doesn’t even like puzzles, anyway. He averts his eyes and heads off, making it around the hall too late to miss Jared exchanging numbers with his sister. For a moment, there’s this sinking feeling as he considers the possibility of Jared coming over to his house to hang out with his sister, but the feeling turns floaty and weird when the realization hits Connor that he won’t be around to care.

Yes, because nothing actually matters anymore. He forgot.

Connor’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and for a weird fucking second when he pulls it out, he expects to see a text from Jared. Which makes no sense because Jared doesn’t even have his number. He sees that his mom has created a group chat between herself, Connor and Zoe, telling both siblings to come home directly and immediately after school, plus an _xo_ and a heart emoji. Zoe responds pretty quickly with a, _We will._ Connor clicks his phone off.

 

That night at dinner, everyone is incredibly tense, except for Connor, who is high. Zoe, defiant, hasn’t even added any food to her plate, rather she’s been slumping down and crossing her arms like she thinks she’s making some statement by not eating. Cynthia and Larry are ignoring this fact, picking at their chicken and watching their plates with a certain fascination that only comes with the avoidance of breaching an awkward, though inevitable, topic.

“Pass the green beans,” Larry grumbles. He’s like an angry bridge troll, today. Cynthia smiles tightly and hands him the bowl.

“So honey, how was work today?” she asks, now that the silence has already been broken. She knows that she can’t stray away from the Alana conversation forever, but damn her if she won’t try.

Zoe raises an eyebrow. Red flag. Larry doesn’t answer fast enough.

“Seriously?” she utters. “Are we not going to address the fact that my-- my best friend is missing?”

Cynthia and Larry exchange a look.

“Well,” Larry begins, “the police are doing what they can, sweetheart--”

“Oh, are they?” Zoe sits up, now, and ignores her mother’s quiet “Don’t interrupt your father, Zoe.”

“You two haven’t been part of any search parties,” Zoe points out.

Cynthia shoots her husband a warning look. He misses it by a mile. “They can’t actually begin the search until 24 hours after a victim goes missing,” he says, and Cynthia lets out a noise of defeat, covering her eyes and leaning over the table.

“Wait, are you kidding me? They haven’t even started looking, yet?”

“Oh, but honey,” Cynthia’s smile looks more like a grimace. “They’ve been gathering information all day, technically they’ve been working on it-- didn’t they come and talk to you kids at school, already?”

“They came to school and tried to make us convince them that she ran away,” Zoe scoffs.

“That’s not true,” Connor pipes, and Cynthia looks grateful for a moment before he adds, “they also patronized the absolute shit out of us.”

“Language,” Larry mumbles, cutting a piece of chicken.

Cynthia gapes. “Is that all you have to say right now?”

As Larry responds with some tired comment, Connor catches Zoe watching him with something resembling _(resembling,_ that’s very important) respect. Is she surprised that he took her side? Because that’s not what he was doing, he was just siding _against_ their parents, like he always does, and she must know that. It’s just happened to coincide with her stance this time.

“What?” he demands. Zoe blinks, and the moment is gone.

“Nothing. Jesus.” She scowls and turns back to the argument. Connor, unwilling to take part more than he already has, distracts himself by playing Candy Crush under the table.

“No phones at dinner, Connor,” Larry chastises. Connor ignores him.

“Larry, your daughter is upset, can we please focus?” Cynthia cries.

“This isn’t about me being upset, it’s about Alana, and no one is doing anything--”

“Sweetheart, they’re doing plenty,” Cynthia sighs. “I’m sure the police will be out searching first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning isn’t soon enough!” Zoe exclaims. “She could be _dying,_ mom, she could be--”

“That’s enough, Zoe,” Larry warns, eyes narrow. “And Connor, I’ll take that thing away from you. Put it away.”

Connor scoffs, without looking up. Larry can have it. This is the last time it’ll ever actually be useful to him.

“What about Alana’s parents?” Zoe demands, ignoring her father.

“Well, what about them?” Cynthia sighs.

“Have you even spoken to them since this morning? Have you spoken to Sara at _all?_ ”

“I’m sure they’ve been busy--”

“So that’s a no.”

Fucking christ, the noise.

“Zoe, please don’t be difficult--”

Connor clicks the phone off. Something to feel instead.

“Connor, we have a rule, give me the--”

Clicks it on.

“Larry, _stop_ worrying about--”

Clicks it off.

“Mom, listen, I’m not--”

Clicks it on.

“That is _enough,_ ” Larry bursts. The arguing dies down, surprisingly. “You’re arguing like children,” he says, as if he’s not included in that narrative. “Zoe, there’s nothing we can do right now. Connor, I want that phone right now.”

Connor silently debates. There’s no point in keeping the phone, at this point, other than to spite Larry one last time. A final hurrah. Is it worth it?

No, he doesn’t want to make any more trouble. Not tonight. Tonight needs to go smoothly-- or, well. Maybe they’re already beyond that.

As smoothly as it can go under the current circumstances, then.

Connor tosses his phone at Larry, who blinks in surprise. Clearly he was expecting a fight. Wordlessly, Connor gets up and starts to walk off. So does Zoe.

“Speaking of this,” Larry speaks up, waving for them to pause. Hesitantly, they do. “Except for school, I don’t want you going out without me or your mom until all of this is cleared up. That goes for both of you. Understood?”

No one says anything.

“ _Understood?_ ”

In perfect unison, Connor and Zoe mutter “Whatever.” They share a quick glance (kind of a glare, really) and then both head up the stairs.

Two bedroom doors slam at once.

 

Yeah, so, obviously Connor sneaks out.

He’s waited until the rest of the house has been in bed for at least an hour. It’s midnight and he’s on the other side of his bedroom window, equipped with a nearly-full bottle of his mom’s sleeping pills and the rest of his weed, which actually isn’t much? He’s smoked off an impressive amount. Not that he plans to finish all of what he has, he’d kind of like to get this over with, but. Well. It seems like a good thing to have? Maybe he can leave it as a fucking weird sort of apology to whoever finds him.

He’ll probably do that.

Anyway.

He walks to that park bordering the woods, with the playground and the baseball diamond and that hill he used to roll down. He walks because to drive would be a risk beyond what he’s willing. Too noisy. Too noticeable. Plus, it… God, Connor really isn’t one for sentimental bullshit, but it feels sort of right? To walk to his final destination. A simple kind of closure...

No, that’s stupid, nevermind. He’s walking to lessen the risk factor.

He walks in the middle of the street, because it’s a quiet neighborhood and there are few cars, even when it isn’t as late as it is. He’s always kind of liked that? Walking in the road as opposed to on the sidewalk. His parents were always keeping a close eye on him when he was little to make sure that he wasn't hit by a car. Maybe it’s the openness that he likes so much. He isn’t sure. He wonders if this is something that people will remember about him.

The park is empty when he arrives, naturally. He finds a bench-- _the_ bench, the preselected one, the one he’s been eyeing for months, because he’s already scoped this place out and planned everything accordingly, of course. Sitting down is like meeting a friend for the first time. Or maybe it’s like sitting on a bench, Connor doesn’t know, he’s tired, fuck. Whatever.

He takes a joint from the box in his pocket and his lighter. He’ll probably only smoke one. Once again, he doesn’t want this to take too much time, and it’s cold out here. Connor lights the joint and takes a long, slow hit.

He leans his head back and looks up at the sky, at the handful of stars not obscured by light pollution or clouds. Surprisingly, he does not come up with some deep bullshit about heaven and the afterlife, about joining those stars (and even if he believed in an afterlife, he knows he’d be heading miles down in the other direction). No, he just sort of… stares. There’s no “what a beautiful world it is” moment, no melancholy. He thinks for a second about constellations, and how weird they are, and how he’s never actually been able to pull them out from the messy sky. Except for, like, the big dipper. Grownups used to point them out to him, but he was never able to make one out. He still can’t. Granted, he isn’t looking very closely.

He squints. Blinks. Smokes. Oh, and yes, before he forgets-- he takes the box with the rest of the weed out of his pocket and leaves it on the grass in front of the bench. _Sorry,_ it says, _hope you weren’t traumatized by the dead kid. If you were, maybe this’ll help._

That’s stupid. No one’s gonna take the weed.

He leaves it anyway.

Some time passes. Some, he doesn’t know how much. About one joint’s worth? Yeah, it’s almost finished. Does he want another one? Is he stalling? Why would he be stalling? Fuck, it’s cold. One hand, the one not holding the joint, goes into his pocket. He closes his eyes.

Until there’s a fucking flashlight in his face, and oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck fuck fuck, how did he not notice someone coming? Connor jerks up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” someone asks, someone, _Zoe?_ Is that Zoe’s voice? She lowers the flashlight, and after a spell of temporary blindness, Connor sees that _yes,_ apparently his sister is here. Panic turns to frustration.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing?” he retorts.

Zoe crosses her arms, frowning defensively. “I’m trying to find Alana.”

Wow. Connor-- wow. Connor is actually pretty speechless at that. He knew Zoe was naive, but since when is she that fucking stupid?

“You-- you’re trying to find Alana. Alone. In the middle of the night.” Holy shit, Connor wants to tell himself that he doesn’t care, but _holy shit._ “Are you fucking insane?”

“No one else is doing anything!” she cries. “I’m not gonna watch everyone else just stand there while she’s out there, somewhere, in trouble! That’s not fair!”

“Yeah, well, congratulations on giving them another missing persons case to deal with, oh my god.”

“Well, you’re out here too? Smoking?” Zoe argues. “Like you could literally do that at home.”

Connor doesn’t know how to argue that he actually came here to kill himself without bringing up the point that he came here to kill himself.

“Yeah,” he says instead, shrugging. Zoe waves her arms at him, as if she’s saying to some invisible audience, _look how impossible my brother is._

He wishes she would just leave. That way, they could both be on their merry ways; Connor to die, and Zoe to get abducted, probably. “Are you just gonna fucking stand there?” he asks. Zoe opens her mouth to respond, but then she pauses. She holds a hand out.

“What?” Connor prompts.

“Is it raining?” she asks.

 _Who fucking cares,_ Connor begins to say, but a few droplets of water drabble onto his face, then. He sighs. Fucking wonderful.

The few droplets quickly turn into a monsoon and the Murphy siblings are being pelted with rain. Connor just needs an hour. Literally an hour why is that so difficult? Zoe pulls her hood up.

“Go home, Connor,” she speaks over the rain.

“No,” he says, while seriously considering doing so. He could just come back tomorrow? This isn’t exactly what he was anticipating-- being interrupted by his sister and also the weather. It seems like a shitty way to go, cold and wet from the rain, having to worry about Zoe coming back before the job is done. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

Just as he moves to stand up, a nasally, “What up, fucks,” rings from his left. The one and only Jared Kleinman emerges from the shadows, then, glasses screwed up by the rain, donning sneakers and a rain jacket and fucking _shorts,_ what the fuck. Connor’s insides turn into something gross, something resembling Kleinman’s face, as he lifts an eyebrow at his sister because he knows that she has something to do with this.

“I invited him to help me look,” Zoe shrugs.

“I had nothing better to do,” Jared also shrugs.

Connor does not shrug. Connor narrows his eyes at both of them, because while Jared Kleinman is an idiot, yes, he’s not _that_ type of idiot, and he should’ve known better to keep Connor’s sister out of trouble like this.

But no, he does not care. He doesn’t. Let them both get fucking kidnapped, Connor will. Not. Be. Around. To give a shit.

“Boy Murphy, what brings _you_ here on this lovely evening?” Jared grins that heinous grin of his, the one that Connor would very much like to punch right off of his face. “Writing some edgy poetry? Mourning your innocence?”

“Sucking off your mom, Kleinman.”

“O ho, original.”

“Mature, guys.” Zoe rolls her eyes and frowns disapprovingly. “Jared, can we focus? Connor was just leaving.” She shoots Connor a pointed look. He flips her off, but he isn’t about to disagree. He stands up and begins shoving past them, ignoring Jared’s “Nice talking to you, Corpse Bride.”

He hardly makes it a few steps before something snaps in the woods.

The three of them freeze. It’s the type of sound none of them would really pay mind to, or even notice, had it not been preceded by a very quiet, very human-sounding yelp. They all turn slowly.

Maybe it’s his imagination taking the circumstance and running with it, but he swears he can see the outline of a person standing in the treeline.

Fear begins to crawl up Connor’s gut. Okay, yes, he came here to die in the first place, but there’s a big difference between overdosing on sleeping pills and being cut up and tortured to death by a psycho axe murderer.

“Alana…?” Zoe utters, way too quietly to even be heard by someone so far away.

“Jesus, calm down, it’s probably an animal,” Jared brushes off, acting like he isn’t just as scared as the rest of them. Just as he says this, some guy steps out of the treeline.

“Fuck,” Zoe swears loudly, proceeding to whip a goddamn knife out of the side of her bag. Jared and Connor look at her in disbelief.

“What the actual fuck, Zoe?” Connor utters.

She glances at him, eyebrows knitted. “Okay, despite what you might think, Connor, I’m not actually _stupid._ I wasn’t about to come out here without protection. What do you take me for?”

Connor stares. “Do you even know how to use--”

“Connor, please, can we…?” She interrupts, looking at him urgently and jerking her head towards the person watching them from the woods. Connor doesn’t really see any room to argue and turns his attention back to the guy, the _kid,_ actually, who appears to be shivering and barefoot-- is he wearing a hospital gown? _He is,_ Connor realizes with a jolt.

Well. If he wasn’t creeped out before.

“Who are you?” Zoe calls out, kind of-sort of giving Connor a heart attack. The kid doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move, he just. Keeps watching. Connor shudders.

“This is fucking creepy,” Jared mutters.

They all pause for a moment. What are they supposed to say? Should they run?

“He looks our age,” Zoe points out quietly. “And he’s wearing a hospital gown. He seems really defenseless, actually.”

Connor turns to her briefly in disbelief. “Well, put the fucking knife down, then?”

“Creepy kid in a hospital gown staring at us from the woods after someone goes missing. Zoe, have you seen any horror movie ever?” Jared pipes, bringing up a good point.

Zoe clicks her tongue. “Look, his hands are empty, and it’s not like he’s hiding a weapon on his hospital gown.”

“He has teeth.”

“Jared, stop.”

They spend another few seconds in silent limbo. Well, the kid hasn’t tried to kill them yet? Connor, seriously debating his own mental health, steps forward just a little bit because no one else is doing anything. Zoe protests a little, but he ignores her.

“What’s wrong?” he calls out. “Are you lost?”

Silence. The kid just stares at him. Connor stares back. They stay locked in an intense staring contest for a while until suddenly, Connor turns around, exasperated, flailing his arms up.

“What the fuck, you guys, are we gonna do something about him or not?” he asks.

Zoe sucks her teeth. “Well… we shouldn’t do _nothing_ …”

Connor turns back to the kid. “Hey, come over here.”

Nothing.

“We’re not gonna, like, _hurt_ you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, as Zoe stands behind him brandishing a large knife.

A beat goes by. Connor has an idea, but it’s fucking crazy. He glances back at Zoe and Jared, who are doing absolutely nothing, apparently having decided that Connor will take the initiative on this one. Maybe he brought that on himself. Fuck.

He starts walking towards the kid. He’s fucking insane, oh god. The kid is pretty quick to step back into the treeline, hiding, Connor guesses, but Connor pauses and puts his hands up to show that he’s harmless. Slowly, he continues, and the kid doesn’t come back out, but he doesn’t back away any more, either. Zoe and Jared are protesting in the back, and Connor knows he should listen, but he doesn’t.

He makes it to a close enough distance that if he wanted to, the kid could probably run out and attack him with ease. But he doesn’t. He just watches, wide-eyed, peering out from behind a tree. His eyes are green. He really does look young. No older than nineteen; in fact, Connor doubts that he’s even _eighteen_ yet. He’s significantly less terrifying up close.

Slowly, so slowly, Connor lowers his hands and slips his jacket off, not losing eye-contact with the kid. “Here,” he says, holding the jacket out. “You’re shivering.”

A few moments go by. When the kid doesn’t take it, Connor places it on the ground and steps back.

They wait. Connor is tempted to turn around and see how Zoe and Jared are reacting, but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of the kid. Moments pass. More moments pass. The kid keeps glancing at the jacket, like he wants to take it but is too afraid of Connor to do so. Connor is kind of about to give up and just walk away, back to Zoe and Jared, when suddenly, the boy moves.

Connor watches, silently encouraging, as his shaking form slowly re emerges out from behind the tree. He takes the jacket, quickly bending down to pick it up and then snapping back up, like he expects Connor to have pulled a gun in the time he looked away. Connor tries to smile reassuringly, but it probably looks more like a grimace.

The kid wraps the jacket around his shivering frame. He isn’t exactly wearing it right, but Connor doesn’t think that he’ll be allowed close enough to correct it. The boy relaxes just a little bit and glances to the side, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, now.

“Holy shit,” Jared says from the back.

The boy’s eyes dart back to Connor, who forces his own expression to soften. They just… watch each other for a moment? It isn’t weird or anything-- actually, that’s blatantly untrue, everything about this is incredibly weird. But it isn’t awkward. It isn’t scary, anymore.

...Well, it isn’t as scary as it was. They seem to have found just a sliver of mutual trust.

Gently, cautiously, Connor extends out a hand, palm up. Enough time goes by for his arm to get tired before the kid takes it. Connor leads him away from the woods and back to the others, who regard him with suspicion and disbelief.

“...Should we call the cops?” Jared suggests.

Connor shakes his head, still holding the boy’s hand. “No. We’re not even supposed to be out here. Let’s just… take him back to our place?” He raises an eyebrow at Zoe, looking for her input. She’s put the knife away, but it’s somewhere that she still has easy access to it.

She sighs. “I guess…? I don’t. This is so fucking weird, Connor.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Connor glances back at the trembling boy. His head is down.

“Let’s just. We should go, before we get sick. Yeah.” Zoe turns away and starts walking. She seems to be kind of in shock. Jared and Connor share a glance before following, the boy still trailing behind.

Thunder rumbles.

Behind them, a streetlamp flickers out.

 

Down, down, somewhere on the other side, a young girl walks through mold and wet darkness. She’s only wearing flats and a skirt and blue earrings to match her blouse, and her glasses keep fogging up, which is annoying and doesn’t even make any sense. For being stuck in a desolate wasteland, the outfit is not ideal.

Alana Beck is cold, but she keeps doing what she does best. She perseveres.

Something in the distance is waiting to prey.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um Alana has two moms and their names are Sara and Bridget Beck but everyone calls Bridget Birdie,, they won't be huge or anything?? definitely not major roles. OCs will be at a minimum, because I usually hate seeing them in fanfiction and I'd rather not make them very prominent. characters like Joyce and Hopper won't be replaced by OCs, the story diverges from the show enough that we won't see storylines from Alana's parents or the police. it'll all center around the five main kids, so no worries in case you were like. worrying.
> 
> that being said, here's a fun fact, the names Bay and Cabello were just me going into my spotify and picking the first two last names I saw? so James Bay and Camila Cabello. idk how fun that is actually but I thought I'd share
> 
> comments and kudos and mostly comments are the nicest things you could ever do for me, even if it's constructive criticism, I want to know what you thought. and please point out any spelling or grammatical errors! thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy x


	2. connor murphy shares his nail polish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor leaves the big decisions to Zoe, Zoe makes the big decisions, Jared makes some jokes and really isn't helping anyone. This weird new kid gets a name and Alana keeps walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicidal thoughts, ALSO Jared uses a slur very early on, if anyone wants a summary of the chapter or the part before Zoe and Jared leave the basement, message me on tumblr and that's no problem <3

So, that’s how Connor, Zoe and Jared end up in the Murphys' basement at one in the morning, cold and wet and tired, standing in front of some scared kid whom they’ve picked up from the woods. Said kid is now wearing Connor’s jacket (correctly), plus fuzzy socks and Zoe’s pink, monkey-patterned pajama pants, since they’ve found that he’s closer to her size than he is to Connor’s. He’s holding a mug of tea and making absolutely zero-percent effort to drink it, instead just sort of staring at the mug’s print-- a picture of a cartoon cat with the words “are you kitten me right meow?”-- and looking sort of traumatized.

“So... where are you from?” Connor attempts. “Is there someone we should call, or…?”

Seconds pass. More seconds pass. Not even a twitch.

“Do you know anything about Alana Beck?” Zoe asks with a twinge of desperation in her voice, trying a new tactic, a really fucking stupid tactic in Connor’s opinion because why the hell would this kid know anything about her missing girlfriend?

Connor states this.

“I’m just trying to get him to talk, Connor, you…” She trails off, gaze sliding from Connor to the kid. “...Well. Do you?” she asks, tone changing from frustration to a tentative helplessness towards the boy-- who, obviously, does not react.

“Do you think he’s retarded?” Jared murmurs unhelpfully.

“ _Jared._ ” Zoe frowns at him disapprovingly, but Connor doesn’t have it in him to even make a comment. He just keeps staring at the kid. Staring, frowning. Like something isn’t right.

Something _isn’t_ right. Well, clearly, because Alana is missing and there’s a weird kid in their basement in the middle of the night, but even beyond that. Connor is getting a bad vibe.

Unless he’s just tired and grumpy and wet from the rain, which. Probably.

The boy doesn’t even try to answer any of the questions. He scratches at the mug’s handle and keeps making this face like he’s about to cry.

“Look,” Zoe sighs. “We want to help you get home, okay? That’s all. We won’t hurt you. Just talk to us.”

The boy looks up, and for a hopeful moment everyone holds their breath. He glances at Zoe, then at Connor, then back into the tea, where he stays. There’s a collectively disappointed sigh.

“We should really get mom and dad,” Zoe murmurs.

“If you want to have your car taken away and be grounded for the next two years, be my guest,” Connor says sardonically.

Zoe narrows her eyes at him. “Okay I know you think you’re hilarious, but now is not the time--”

“Murphys!” Jared interrupts. Zoe and Connor go quiet and Jared looks so pleased with himself, although all he’s really achieved is having all the negative energy directed towards him, now. “I have the solution. Why don’t we let our friend sleep here tonight, and tomorrow we can send him around to knock on your front door. Your parents will think that he just showed up that morning, and no one gets in any trouble, voila.”

Ah, shit. Connor scowls because that’s actually a good idea, and he really hates to admit the fact that Jared Kleinman has had a good idea.

“...Okay,” Zoe says, nodding slowly. “That… that could work. Connor?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Connor crosses his arms, eyes glued narrowly to the floor.

“Wonderful!” Jared claps both siblings on the back, _hard,_ earning a wince from Zoe. Connor jerks back as if he’d been burned with a branding iron. “Shall we call it a night, then? I’d really like to go home and remember this as the weirdest fucking fever dream ever.”

“Yeah, um.” Zoe shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it-- unsuccessfully, if the way she rubs at her temple is anything to go by. “It’s late. I should probably give you a ride.”

“ _Now_ you’re suddenly worried about safety?” Connor points out. Zoe doesn’t seem to appreciate this very much.

“Will you stop being an asshole for like, three seconds?” She retorts.

“Fuck you,” he says stubbornly, and okay, that was a little childish. But like? He’s sort of out of comebacks, it’s late, and right now he’s supposed to be too dead to even _need_ comebacks. Fortunately, the argument ends there anyway.

His head hurts.

“Jared, let’s go. _Quietly._ Connor, I’ll be gone for like five seconds, you can handle this, right?” On the word _this,_ Zoe sort of half-gestures to the boy on the couch. He’s still sitting there quietly, staring at his tea. Like a bomb will go off if he moves one muscle.

Connor watches him. He seems sort of crazy, yeah, but not like much trouble? If things continue this way, they’ll be fine. Connor shrugs.

“I guess,” he responds, and means it literally. It’s not even an educated guess. In fact, the more educated guess would probably be that he’s totally screwing himself over right now by allowing Zoe and Jared to leave him alone to babysit. But he doesn’t elaborate on any of that, so--

“Perfect.” Zoe rubs at her eyes tiredly, which, yeah. Her mascara is already ruined from the rain, but even if it weren’t, he doubts that would stop her. Connor can relate to that feeling of running on threads of pure adrenaline. “Um. Okay. Come on, Jared.”

She leads Jared up the basement stairs. Jared throws a semi-loud “Sweet dreams, freaks,” over his shoulder, because he just _has_ to keep up his fucking dickwad-ish image, even now. As Zoe shushes him like crazy because _you’re gonna wake our parents up are you stupid,_ Connor frowns.

He’s sort of stuck on the plural noun part of that phrase, specifically the _plural_ noun part, because it almost implies that Jared is sticking Connor in the same boat as this kid. Like okay _yes,_ Connor is known for being fucking weird but you wouldn’t find him at the border of the woods in a hospital gown, staring at you like an animal. That’s not really fair.

Connor glances at the kid, who doesn’t really seem offended, and maybe he’s overthinking this.

“...So.” Connor claps his hands together, making the boy flinch. “You’re probably tired.”

On the contrary, the kid could not seem more awake. It’s as if he’d chugged a gallon of espresso and was now staring into his cup as thoughts blurred past him like cars.

“I’ll get you set up?”

The first sign of life, a nod.

“Okay,” Connor sighs. He moves to take the mug, the still completely full mug, but the kid reacts like if Connor were getting ready to hit him, locking up and inhaling sharply.

“The cup. Unless you were saving that for later?” Connor elaborates. The sarcasm feels sticky on his tongue.

Moments pass. Connor, growing impatient and irritated, is about to leave it at _whatever, fine,_ when the kid thrusts the mug forward, jerkily, spilling some liquid, like a broken robot. Connor blinks, a little startled, then takes it from him.

It’s such a fucking stupid mug.

“Pillows right next to you, there’s probably a blanket in that basket over there? Yeah,” he says, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible, because the kid’s behavior is getting increasingly creepy. “We’ll get the police tomorrow and you can be out of our hair.” He isn’t sure if he’s mostly trying to reassure himself or the kid with that last part.

And then. And _then._ The kid just jerks up like he’s coming out of a dream, shaking his head vigorously back and forth, and Connor is left to try and figure out whether or not it’s actually in response to what he just said.

 _Stupid, stupid, should’ve kept your mouth shut,_ says that little voice, quite a rational little voice, but Connor mentally beats it with a stick anyway because it isn’t fucking helping.

“...No?” he utters, an eyebrow raised.

“N-- no,” the kid confirms in this hoarse, shaky voice, the first thing he’s spoken since they found him. So he isn’t mute. Connor tries to decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing. The kid kind of looks like he’s about to cry, and Connor decides that it’s bad.

“...Sorry,” he begins reluctantly, head tilting a little, “I’m not really getting--”

The kid hiccups, startling Connor’s sentence short, and oh, boy, here they go.

“Please-- please, no,” he whimpers. It sounds like the broken product of some war inside his head, a battle of too many words, clashing and jumbling until that's all he knows how to convey.

“No what?” Connor urges along. “No police?”

The kid hums and scratches his nose, but in this way like he just needs something to do with his hands, not like it actually itches. “Um.”

Connor kind of wants to tell him to spit it out; actually, no, he _really_ wants to tell him to spit it out, but that seems like something that would cause more trouble than it’s worth, so he keeps his mouth shut and waits.

“S- ss-- secret,” the boy gets out like it hurts, shakily pointing a finger at his own chest.

Connor stares. “Yeah, no, sorry,” he says loudly. “We’re not-- no. We’re not gonna do that.”

The kid looks at him helplessly with these tear-filled eyes, but Connor’s heart is something akin to a pebble and there’s no room for any pity that this boy is trying to elicit. There isn’t room for much other than select hatred and probably, like, an old pet that keeled over and died in there.

“You can stay here for the night,” he explains, a little apologetically but not really. “But you can’t-- no. You have to go. Someone else will help you.”

“No, please,” the kid protests desperately, curling up-- releasing a sob, which, fucking god. “You can’t-- you c-- no, p- please, no.”

“There’s nothing we--” _can do,_ Connor starts to say, except then he gets interrupted.

“ _Bad,_ bad,” the kid bursts, like he needs Connor to understand this before speaking any further. His eyes are screwed shut. “Bad people. Bad men. After-- after me.”

Connor wishes the kid hadn’t said this, because goddamn, now he has to think and be surprised and actually consider the stuff that he’s saying. Why couldn’t the kid have announced this while Zoe was still here?

“Are you in trouble with the cops?” he asks, more apathetically than that question should probably ever be asked.

“No,” the kid murmurs, something troubled streaking across his panicked expression.

“Then who?” Connor asks, growing frustrated. He’s really digging for answers here, to questions that shouldn’t even need to be stated.

“Please,” the kid says simply-- well, he doesn’t say it simply, he says it very shakily, he says it like there are a million things behind it, but the word itself is simple and provides Connor with absolutely no information. The boy is trembling-- his knees are drawn up to his chest, covering his mouth. There’s this look of complete and utter fear on his face, like if he presses the wrong button Connor will pull a knife on him (yeah, thanks for that one, Zoe). It’s so goddamn pitiful that Connor can’t help but feel a twang of sympathy.

“Yeah, that… doesn’t answer my question,” he points out, and then tries again. “Who’s after you?”

“Bad-- bad people--”

“Yeah, we covered that. But _who?_ ”

Nothing, absolutely no response, just more trembling and a worried stare.

“Okay. Here’s a different question,” Connor tries, moving to stick his hands into his pockets, but his pockets are currently on the kid and so he crosses his arms instead. “ _Why_ are they after you?”

Ah, this gets something. The boy’s expression shifts, and he opens his mouth, fumbling for words.

“They-- they-- hurt me,” he decides finally, but oh, wait, nevermind, backtrack, he’s shaking his head now. “No. They-- they take me. Hurt you.”

“Hurt… _me?_ ” Connor repeats incredulously. “How?”

“Oh,” the boy murmurs thoughtfully, troubled, unfurling to look at his hands as if they’ll have the answer. “They-- well, they--”

Connor waits with the patience of a god; patience he probably wouldn’t even have, were he not so fucking exhausted. The boy fidgets with his hands for the time it takes Connor to get up in the morning, before his left hand forms a--

Oh.

“Hurt you,” he whispers, directing the finger gun towards Connor’s forehead.

Connor’s stomach does something really weird and ugly and interesting. “Are you. You’re telling me if I call the police, or-- or social services or whatever, I’m gonna get shot?”

The kid nods and relaxes, seemingly relieved that Connor understands, but then he notices Connor’s expression and tenses right back up again.

“No, that’s-- you have to say more than that. You can’t just tell me someone is going to _kill_ me and expect that to be it.” Connor is coming to regret bringing this kid into his basement more and more. “Who are these people?”

“I’m-- I’m sorry--” The kid is shaking a bit, shrinking back like he’s trying to get eaten by the couch.

“Thanks. Who is after you?” Connor asks again, firmly, because he desperately wants to go upstairs and put a pillow over his face and suffocate-- or sleep, at least, but he can’t do that, because he has to deal with the prospect of being murdered, now, and in all honesty this kid is probably fucking insane and Connor shouldn’t take a word he says seriously. Except, you know, he can’t just walk away from this-- well, he technically could, but he’s not going to.

A sharp inhale comes from the boy, and then another, and fuck. Connor is in no way equipped to deal with this. Just then, he can hear the front door open and close, and he doesn’t know whether to bless his stars or curse them.

“Connor?” comes a hissy stage-whisper from the top of the stairs as the door creaks open. Zoe’s legs appear at the top of the stairs, and she ducks down to see them.

“Zoe.” Connor grabs this opportunity and throttles it, marching up the stairs, abandoning the kid shamefully guiltlessly, grabbing Zoe by the arm and leading her off harshly.

“Wha-- hey!” she protests, but he doesn’t stop until they’re in the soundproof guest bedroom, door shut.

“What the fuck, Connor? Is something wrong?” she begins, then, more suspiciously, “Did you do something?”

“No, fuck off. Or, don't fuck off-- just, okay." He takes in Zoe’s wary expression, heaves himself beyond the irritation that comes with her automatic distrust, and begins.

“Here’s the thing.”

He relays everything to her that the kid told him, which isn’t much. He’d gotten a lot of isolated information with no context. Still, Zoe seems pretty upset at the news. Pissed, even.

“What the fuck? Is that a threat?” she says when he’s finished. “Is that-- did he threaten you?”

Connor pauses, because he. Hadn’t actually thought of it that way.

“...I don’t think so,” he utters. “He seemed super freaked out. Like he’s actually in danger.”

“What are we gonna do, then?”

“I don’t fucking know? I’m asking you."

“Um. Yeah. Okay.” Zoe sighs, hand over her face, visibly frustrated and conflicted. “He’s probably just crazy?”

“Okay.”

“But that’s also a big risk to take. What if he’s not?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have anything else to contribute?” she jabs, but it’s more of an exasperated murmur than real anger.

“Not really? What do you want me to say?” he responds.

“I don’t know, just--” She sighs. “Is that really all he said?”

“No, I’m just, y'know. Hiding select information from you," he retorts.

Zoe’s frown deepens. “Just-- okay. How about we keep him for now, and if he can’t explain himself by tomorrow night, we get mom and dad.”

“Okay, I guess." Maybe it’s an underreaction, but as the (cough) responsible one, Zoe should be making these calls. Not him.

“Fantastic. I’m going to bed,” she announces suddenly, irritation radiating off of her. 

“Seriously? You’re not gonna talk to him?” Connor frowns.

“Why would I? No-- that was rhetorical. Goodnight.” She opens the door and heads off before Connor can retort. He watches her, tired and helpless, considering following suit, but then. The kid was kind of panicking. And someone should let him know what the plan is.

So, Connor goes back to the basement. The kid is still curled up, still shaking, but he’s breathing again, which is. Good? Connor doesn’t know.

“Hey,” Connor starts awkwardly, and the kid looks up strikingly quick. “We were talking, and. You have until tomorrow night to tell us what’s going on, got it? Or we call someone to get you. So.”

The kid doesn’t respond, but Connor isn’t really going to push it. And now is when his legs should begin to move, taking him away to his room, but they’re just kind of chilling and not doing much, and then his mouth is moving to form the question, “What’s your name, by the way?”

God, fuck, stupid. Don’t put names to things unless you want to get attached.

The kid stays quiet, anyway, and Connor is ready to head off without an answer, but then the kid shifts, letting his face hide in his knees. He murmurs something that Connor isn’t quite able to catch, but it sounds vaguely like _Evan._

“What is it? Evan?” Connor asks.

Maybe-Evan shakes his head and then slowly raises it to look Connor in the face. “Eleven,” he says more clearly.

Connor searches his face to see if he’s joking, but if so then that’s a weird-ass joke, and this guy doesn’t seem like much of a comedian. “ _Eleven?_ Like, the number eleven?”

He nods.

“Oh.” Connor pauses, and frowns. “Well, that’s a bullshit name. Can I call you Evan?”

Evan, or something, hesitates. “Yes?” he says, sounding pretty confused, like it’s not weird at all that his parents named him after a fucking number but oh, when Connor wants to call him Evan, it’s all, _what the hell is wrong with you?_

“Okay. I’m Connor,” he says anyway. “Um, that was Zoe, my sister? And Jared, my-- well. That was Jared.”

Evan nods, looking at something off to the side. He does that kind of a lot.

“Are you gonna be okay?” slips out. Wow, Connor.

Evan hesitates. Hesitates, hesitates, hesitates, and then he nods, and Connor will pretend that it did not take fifteen seconds for Evan to answer that question.

He pauses. They sort of look at each other. It feels weird to just go back upstairs and act like nothing’s new, but what is there left to say?

“...Okay. See you tomorrow, Evan,” he decides.

“See you.” Evan whispers.

Connor goes upstairs, shutting the lights off behind him and closing the door. Quietly, up the two flights of stairs, past Zoe’s bedroom, past the bathroom-- the… medicine cabinet.

The pills.

Connor swears, loud enough that it’s risky, and immediately heads back down to the basement.

Evan is sitting up, alarmed as Connor makes his way back down. He doesn’t bother turning the lights back on. They make eye-contact, and Evan doesn’t really relax, but Connor just says, “Your pocket,” and holds his hand out expectantly.

Evan frowns and sticks his hands into the pockets, drawing out the orange bottle. He hesitates before handing them over. Connor holds them up for Evan to see.

“Secret,” he whispers, calmly but urgently. Seeing as the kid seems totally crazy, Connor isn’t worried about him tattling.

Slowly, slowly, Evan nods, understanding. Connor tears his gaze away, swallows something ugly in his throat, and leaves.

He goes to the bathroom upstairs and sticks the pills back into the cabinet, but his hand doesn’t quite come off of the bottle. He stares, and breathes, and then the pills come back out of the cabinet and the cap comes off. He looks into the collection of capsules before five of the white pills are poured into his hand, no more, no less, and the rest go back into the cabinet compliantly. He shuts the bathroom light off and heads back to his room.

He lies on his bed, feels the capsules in his fist, heavier than just about anything. He doesn’t take them, he doesn’t really even consider taking them, he just. Holds them. Feels them. Breathes. Strangely enough, the promise they give him is all that’s keeping him grounded. Or maybe that’s not strange. He’s too tired to think about it.

He sinks into sleep, and goes no further.

 

The next morning comes and Connor isn’t going to school, obviously.

He lies down on his bed, spread out, left limbs dangling off the side, pinching the sheets and rubbing them together. Footsteps approach and Connor turns his head to see Zoe pass by his open door, fully dressed, carrying her backpack. She moves quickly, looking straight ahead like she’s trying to avoid him.

“His name is Evan,” he calls out, and he doesn’t know why he calls this out, why he thought this would be important information to share, but he does.

The footsteps pause. Then they continue.

Like there isn’t a major secret hidden in the basement, like Alana Beck is perfectly fine, Zoe goes to school, and Connor goes back to sleep.

 

When he wakes up for the second time, it’s noon and he’s home alone.

Well. Not quite alone. But his family is gone. He wonders why there wasn’t a fight to get him to go to school that morning, not that he’s complaining. Maybe his parents feel safer with him here. Didn’t think it was worth it with everything going on.

Either way. He has two options now. Acknowledge the fact that he has a kidnapped person in his basement, or not acknowledge the fact that he has a kidnapped person in his basement. The fact that Evan could be getting into trouble is the only thing making him choose the former.

He sighs, gets up, gets dressed kind of. When he makes it down to the basement, the couch is empty, in fact the. The whole room is empty. Conveniently.

“Evan?” Connor calls.

The bathroom door is open, so Connor checks in there, and is able to swallow his brief bout of panic. Evan is kneeling at the sink, holding a bottle of bright pink kid’s nail polish, watching the old and watery paint dribble off the brush and into the sink. There’s this intensity, this weird fascination coloring his features.

“What the fuck?” Connor asks, starling Evan into dropping the brush. It rolls into the sink, leaving a streak of polish.

“S- s- sorry,” Evan utters worriedly, “I- I--”

“What are you doing?” Connor shakes his head, grabbing the bottle from his hands, though not angrily. Just. Confused. A little exasperated.

“I- I don’t-- I wasn’t--” Evan stammers, and Connor pauses.

“Okay, nevermind, it’s fine,” he sighs. He takes the cap and screws it back on. “This stuff is old,” he says, studying the bottle, the sort of lava lamp effect that the paint has developed. “I have, like, actual nail polish, you know.”

“Nail polish?” Evan repeats, confused. Connor raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, nail polish,” he says. “Like this stuff, but still good.”

Evan’s head tilts a little. Connor frowns.

“You. Have you never seen nail polish before?”

Evan doesn’t respond, but he makes this face, like he’s worried he’s done something wrong.

“No, that’s okay. I guess,” Connor tells him. “Um. I can show you?” he offers, for some reason.

Evan hesitates. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Connor says, and moves to head off, except Evan stays put.

“Well, come on?” Connor urges, raising an eyebrow. Evan jerks into gear, and they head up to Connor’s room, Evan straying a few feet back.

“What color do you want?” Connor asks him once they make it to his room, gesturing to the polishes, as if there are more than, like, three.

Evan just stands there awkwardly, uncomfortably, like Connor had asked him to name every US capital rather than what nail polish he wanted. Connor rolls his eyes.

“They won’t bite you, just pick one,” he says.

Evan steps forward. He takes a moment to examine his options and then glances at Connor, who nods him on. He hesitates a few more seconds before pointing to a sky-blue polish. Connor thinks that one was from Cynthia. He’s never worn it.

“This?” Evan says, phrasing his choice like he’s worried he picked the wrong answer.

Connor nods. “Okay, then.”

He takes the bottle and sits cross-legged on the floor. He’s not going to bother going downstairs for paper towels, so it’ll probably get on the hardwood, but whatever. “Come on,” Connor says, patting the space before him, thinking to himself what a stupid idea this was, but it’s sort of too late to abort.

Reluctantly, Evan sits down, mirroring Connor, who unscrews the bottle and holds a hand out expectantly. Evan frowns at it.

“Hand, please,” Connor explains. Evan’s frown deepens, but he slowly offers his hand to Connor.

Connor takes his thumb and goes for it with the brush, but Evan flinches away before he can even do anything. Connor blinks in surprise.

“Wha-- hey, calm down,” he tells him. “This is all I’m gonna do.”

Evan watches skeptically as Connor makes a stroke on his own thumb with the blue, painting over the black that’s already there, but it’s fine.

“Okay?” Connor asks.

“...Okay,” Evan whispers, although it takes him a moment. He holds his hand out once again, fingers curled in slightly, green eyes wavering on Connor’s face like he really isn’t so sure about this. Connor takes his hand, gently so as not to scare him away, even if it is a little ridiculous that he’s so anxious about nail polish in the first place. He goes over each nail, tongue poking out in concentration because he’s mastered the art of painting his own nails but he’s kind of shit at other people’s, apparently. Or maybe that’s just because Evan’s hands are kind of shaky.

They are shaky. Connor wonders what that’s about.

Either way, Evan doesn’t seem to mind the messups. He’s watching their hands with a soft expression every time Connor glances up, looking sort of confused but not unhappy. Mesmerized might be the right word, even. His shell of self-consciousness is gone, replaced by something slow and flitting, observing Connor’s work the same way one might read a book.

“That should be good,” Connor says, finishing up the second layer, reluctant to break the nearly-tangible silence. “Just have to let it dry. So don’t touch anything, alright?”

Evan blinks and looks up. They make eye-contact and he smiles, to Connor’s astonishment, this tiny, sheepish thing, before he goes back to examining his nail polish.

Connor looks on curiously as this nervous enigma of a boy studies the blue on his nails. Something shifts.

It feels like progress.

 

“Any nines?”

“Um… no.”

“So then you’re supposed to say ‘go fish.’”

“G- go fish…?”

Connor nods. Draws a card from the pile. He thinks he’s supposed to only take one, but he hasn’t played this game since he was little and didn’t bother actually looking up the rules, so he can’t be sure.

It’s a seven. Nothing happens.

“Um,” Evan says, hesitating to make sure that it’s really his turn. When Connor waits expectantly, he continues. “Fours?” he asks.

“Damn, Evan, you’re good at this.” For someone who reacted to a deck of cards like he’d never seen one before. Connor hands over his two fours, brows knitting. Evan takes them and then places a stack of cards down on the floor between them.

“Go fish,” he says.

“No, you--”

Just then, the front door opens and closes loudly, and they both freeze.

Connor’s brain jumps into this _what do I do holy shit I’m gonna get caught_ mode that he hasn’t felt since sneaking out in eighth grade, before he stopped caring about shit like disappointing his parents and getting in trouble. Alarm bells are ringing, and Evan looks terrified.

“Stay here,” Connor tells him urgently, quietly. “I’ll be right back.”

Evan nods, hesitant, watching helplessly as Connor shuts the door behind him.

Connor quickly makes his way down the steps. “Mom?” he calls.

The relief is overwhelming when it’s not Cynthia, but Zoe who comes into view, throwing her coat onto a hook by the door.

“Just me.” She turns around, eyebrows raised at him in this way like _dude why are you acting so freaked out,_ but she knows exactly why, and shut the fuck up.

“Is he still here?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer to that. And she _knows_ that she knows it, too, so it’s really just a waste of a question.

“Yeah,” Connor responds anyway.

Zoe sighs, like maybe there had been just a sliver of hope that all this shit would have blown over by the time she got back. “Okay. Whatever,” she brushes off, and Connor blinks, because, okay. That wasn’t really the attitude he was expecting.

“Where’s mom?” he asks instead of mentioning it, because Zoe’s passiveness is the type of thing that he would call luck, and he isn’t going to push it.

“No idea.” Zoe shrugs. “She texted me that she won’t be home until later, though. I think she’s avoiding us. Or me, at least.”

Thank god for that.

“Evan!” Connor calls. “You can come down, it’s just Zoe.”

Zoe’s bitterness turns into more bitterness. Still, she doesn’t say anything until Evan pauses on the stairs, worriedly, fidgeting with his hands, and she squints.

“Is he wearing nail polish?” she asks.

“No, his nails are naturally blue, Zoe.”

“Since when do you have nail polish that isn’t black?” she asks puzzledly, ignoring his comment.

“I stole yours,” he retorts.

“I don’t even own-- no. Okay. You know what? I’ll be in the kitchen.” She casts one last borderline-disdainful glance Evan’s way before heading off. Connor sighs, turning around.

“...Do you want to watch TV?” he asks.

Evan looks up at him and nods.

“Okay.”

 

Evan decides that he wants to watch Gilmore Girls.

Connor gets the impression that the selection was mostly random. Still, they’re an episode in and Evan seems pretty invested, staring at the television with intrigue. He’s clicking his nails, but not in such a nervous way, this time.

Connor, on the other hand, is less invested in Lorelai Gilmore’s financial troubles, even if he’s less bored than he would like to admit. He allows the next episode to autoplay and says, “Hey, I’ll be upstairs, stay here.”

Evan nods, not taking his eyes off the TV, apparently too interested in the show to pay Connor any mind. Connor slips off of the couch and heads off with a sigh.

Into the kitchen, where Zoe said she’d be, where it smells like. Coffee? To his surprise, Zoe is pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven, her back to him. If she’s noticed his presence, she hasn’t said anything.

He opens smoothly with, “What the hell?”

Zoe whirls around, startled, as if she's expecting to see something scary like a ghost or an intruder or Connor.

“What?” she snaps defensively, seeing that it’s him.

“You made cookies?” he asks, confused, because he’s seen her bake before, although considering the fact that she was out risking her life to search for Alana last night, he would've expected her to be doing something a little more productive. But maybe she’s stress-baking. Does Zoe stress-bake?

She frowns. “Yeah, why is that surprising?”

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know, I figured you’d be continuing your anxious downward spiral or something.”

Zoe rolls her eyes but she doesn’t say anything, apparently not finding it worth it. She’s learning to pick her battles. Good for her. Connor snatches a cookie from the tray, but it’s still too hot and half of it breaks off, falling back onto the tray. Zoe grabs the other half from his hand and puts it back, hissing when it burns her hand. She’s weak.

“What are you doing?” she asks accusingly, shaking her hand out.

“Taking one to Evan?” Connor responds bluntly. “Sorry, I thought these were for eating.”

“They’re for Alana’s parents,” Zoe tells him pointedly, before she softens just a little. “White chocolate mocha. We… they’re Alana’s favorite.”

“I can’t just take one?” Connor complains.

“No.” Zoe shakes her head. Her ponytail swings. “I’m trying to do something nice, here, since it seems like no one else is going to.”

 _It seems like mom and dad aren’t going to_ , in other words. Connor can’t disagree.

“Like, okay,” she continues a little more harshly, when he says nothing. “I get that they’re uncomfortable with gay people or whatever, but Alana is _missing._ They can’t even, I don’t know, check up on them?”

Oh, okay. So they’re dropping the passive-aggressiveness and moving to straight-on aggressiveness. “It probably wouldn’t help anyway.” Connor shrugs. It isn’t an attempt to reassure or piss her off more, it’s just the truth.

Zoe gestures frustratedly. “I don’t know. Whatever.” She swings around to the other side of the kitchen and grabs a tupperware container from one of the cupboards, then comes back, touching one of the cookies with the pads of her fingers to check if it’s cool enough. It isn’t, apparently, and so she clicks her tongue and leans her hands on the edge of the counter and stares at the wall pointedly as she bounces her heel, but a few seconds later she starts piling the cookies in anyway. Agitated. Connor wonders if he prompted that.

“Are you okay?” slips out of him, before he himself even registers what he’s saying. It’s not very genuine-- it sounds more like _dude, calm down_ than actual concern, but it still surprises them both. Zoe gives him a weird look.

“Not... really?” she tells him honestly.

Connor nods, like _okay, interesting, cool._ “Oh.”

Yep. Yes. Right. Anyway.

“I’m going to the Beck’s now,” Zoe announces, popping the lid onto the container, and something in her voice is different. “I’ll be back later.”

“Bye,” Connor says simply, a little awkwardly, and Zoe leaves the kitchen.

He reaches over and turns the oven off because she forgot to. The door closes, and the broken cookie has been left on the baking tray.

 

Later but not super-later, while Evan and Connor are still watching TV in the basement, the doorbell rings. Evan turns around, frowning curiously, and Connor holds back a groan. Even without having to keep Evan hidden, he’s not in the mood to do human interaction. He never really is, though?

“It’s probably some salesperson,” he tells Evan, whose confusion does not fade. He wishes that they had a dog to scare whomever it is away. Maybe he’ll just pretend that nobody's home.

But then the doorbell rings again, twice in a row this time, and Connor does groan.

“Okay. This is fine. Fuck,” he says. And then, to Evan, what Evan really must know, “Stay here.”

He heads upstairs, swinging the front door open in all his sweatpants-and-stained-t-shirt glory, to stare at Jared Kleinman with the most _what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-here-get-out_ that a blank look can muster. It takes a lot to not just close the door right in his face. Connor isn’t sure why he doesn’t, actually.

“What the fuck do you want?” he says instead, at the same time that Jared says, “Holy shit, you’re _keeping_ him?”

“No,” Connor sighs, lies, avoids, because he can’t say with one-hundred-percent certainty that they _are_ keeping him, and it’s none of Jared’s business, anyway. “We took him to the police station this morning.”

“Where is he even staying? How are you gonna hide him from your parents? This is so _stupid,_ ” Jared remarks with a chuckle, and, okay, Connor’s lying skills could use some improvement.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Zoe isn’t here,” he points out. “Come back later. Or don’t, I don’t fucking--”

“I’m not here for _Zoe,_ ” Jared interjects, scoffing, shoving past Connor and ignoring Connor’s blatant protests.

Connor follows closely behind as Jared rushes towards the basement. “Stop, I’m fucking serious, don’t go down-- oh, fuck,” he murmurs, as Jared reaches the bottom of the steps.

Evan is sitting there, looking absolutely petrified at Jared’s ugly grin, and Connor groans.

“Sorry, Evan--”

“ _Evan?_ You _named_ him?”

“Are you stupid?” Connor asks sincerely. “No. Obviously. That’s just his name.” He doesn’t mention the fact that he sort of _had_ come up with the name, actually.

“So you’re talking now?” Jared asks, hands on his hips, and it takes Connor a moment to realize that the question is directed at Evan. Evan, who says nothing.

“What, does he only talk to you?” This one is directed at Connor, who shrugs.

“Maybe he just doesn’t to fuckwads who terrorize him, I don’t know, Jared?”

“Nah,” Jared says, not losing his smile. He slings down onto the couch beside Evan, who flinches.

“Are you watching Gilmore Girls?” Jared asks disbelievingly, but he recognized it, so? “Wow, Murphy, pushing your weird tastes onto this poor kid.”

“He _wanted_ to watch it--” Connor starts, but Jared is already reaching for the remote. Connor, not up for making the effort to stop him, watches him put on some shitty horror movie.

“Evan, you know you don’t have to put up with this,” Connor says. Evan gives a little shrug, barely noticeable, and says nothing. Connor sighs, accepting the situation, and flings himself down into a beanbag in front of the couch. Jared is like a child. The TV should keep him occupied. At least he isn’t interrogating Evan.

The movie drones on. Connor, completely uninterested, is skimming some book he found lying on the table, checking back a couple times to look at Evan, who seems oddly interested in Jared’s selection. At one point, some jumpscare pops up on the screen, making Evan yelp and Jared swear loudly. Connor turns the page, unbothered.

And then, suddenly, weirdly-- “Connor. It’s floating.”

Connor doesn’t currently have enough brainpower to try and decipher whatever the fuck _that_ means, so instead he just says, “Sure, Jared.”

“No, Murphy, turn around. It’s-- the remote is fucking floating.”

Connor releases an enormous sigh and looks over his shoulder. “Kleinman, what the fuck, I don’t--”

The book slips out of his hands.

 

When Zoe comes home, she’s greeted at the front door by Evan, standing behind Jared, standing behind Connor. She freezes at the sight of them, then slowly closes the door behind her, not taking her eyes off of the dazed trio-- well, the dazed Jared and Connor, Evan just seems nervous, mostly.

“Hi,” Connor utters.

“I-- no,” Zoe utters, shaking her head, snapping out of her confusion and surprise. “Not right now, you guys.”

“What?” Connor frowns, but she’s heading up the stairs before any of them can stop her.

“O-kay,” Connor mutters, looking back at Jared and Evan. She isn’t talking to the three of them, apparently, and they kind of need to tell her about this incredibly important development they’ve found. Connor feels gross about leaving Evan alone with Jared, but he tells them to go back to the basement while he talks to her.

He makes it to her door and knocks. “Go away,” she calls, but he twists the doorknob and enters, anyway.

“What the fuck is your problem?” is probably not the best way to broach this conversation, but it’s what he ends up saying, anyway. Zoe sits up on her bed, glaring daggers.

“Get the fuck out, Connor,” she demands.

“No. What’s wrong?” he asks, not because he’s particularly concerned, but because they are not in the type of situation where she gets to act like a baby instead of communicating. Normally he wouldn’t care, but shit is happening and they have no time for this.

"Are you just gonna stand there until I talk?"

"Obviously."

Zoe sighs, burying her face in her hands. “Her parents aren’t handling it well, okay?” she tells him sharply, like she’s only saying it to make him go away. Like she expects that to be all.

Connor blinks in surprise, because, “What the hell were you expecting?”

She shoots him another look. “I was expecting them to be upset, obviously. But they--” she cuts off there, troubledly.

“They what?” Connor urges.

“They got a phone call,” she utters, chewing her lip and looking down at her bedspread.

“A phone call,” Connor repeats, eyebrow raised. “Are you gonna elaborate on that, or…?”

“Don’t be a dick,” she tells him, looking up and frowning. “But… yeah. We just-- we were-- um, they invited me in. So we were just talking, and the phone started to ring? And right away they both tensed up, and Sara went to go answer it, and right when she did, she just sort of started to freak out. So Birdie went over to her and started saying things like, ‘just ignore it, the police told us to ignore it, just hang up,’ and when I asked what was wrong, they both told me that I had to leave.”

“And?”

“And I left, Connor, what else was I gonna do?” she says, rolling her eyes.

“That’s… really weird, Zoe.” _Not as weird as what I have to say._

“I know.”

There’s a silent pause as Connor tries to figure out what to say next, when Jared Kleinman opens the door and steps inside.

“You’re supposed to be with Evan,” Connor points out before Jared can say anything stupid like, _What’s going on, penises?_

“I got bored?” Jared says, as if this is all a game, like it’s supposed to be entertaining for him. “He still won’t talk and refuses to use his powers. He can handle himself, anyway.”

“Powers?” Zoe frowns.

Jared raises both eyebrows at Connor. “You haven’t told her? What the hell have you guys been talking about up here?”

“Nothing,” Connor responds.

“ _Powers?_ ” Zoe repeats.

Connor sighs, and here they go. “Yeah. We kind of have something to show you.”

 

So, the four of them end up back in the basement, sitting around the table, no one really sure of how to initiate this. Evan is staring at his lap like it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen, Jared won’t stop tapping the fucking table, Zoe keeps looking around like she’s waiting patiently but is secretly going to punch someone if another second goes by in awkward silence, and Connor.

Connor is having a great time.

“Okay, so. You wanna show her, Evan?” Jared prompts, weirdly cheerful. Evan shrugs a little.

“Awesome,” Jared says.

Another moment goes by. Connor groans in exasperation and grabs the nearest small object, which happens to be Zoe’s phone.

“Hey,” she snaps.

“Shut up,” he tells her. “Evan, I’m gonna toss this up. Can you catch it like you did with the remote? Just to show Zoe.”

Evan nods hesitantly, unfurling to sit up in his chair.

“Okay. Ready? Three, two, one--”

Connor tosses the phone. It lands on the table with a sharp clatter.

“Dude,” Zoe says, brows knitting, checking to see that it isn’t cracked.

“S- sorry,” Evan is shaking his head. “Again?”

“Yeah,” Connor sighs. “Maybe, um. If you throw it this time?”

“Are you crazy? No,” Zoe says, clutching her phone protectively.

“Zoe, come on.”

“Here, let me see it,” Jared says, leaning forward and reaching for the phone. Zoe seems reluctant.

“You can trust me,” he tells her with a smile. So, hesitantly, Zoe hands it over.

“Thanks,” he says casually, and then proceeds to hurl the phone at Evan’s face.

Evan yelps, curling in, but the phone never hits. He stares at it, wide-eyed, illuminated by its sudden light as it hangs mid air a few inches away from his face. Connor is too busy watching in awe to yell at Jared or catch Zoe’s reaction.

Then, suddenly, some kind of huge realization dawns on Evan’s face and the phone falls to the table. Zoe is too shocked to even pick it up.

“Oh--” Evan has both hands clapped over his mouth in surprise. He’s looking around at everyone else, like they should be having the same reaction, or something.

“What is it?” Connor asks. Evan scrambles to pick up the phone, holding the lock screen for everyone to see, a picture of Zoe and Alana in Washington Square Park. Maybe he’s just marveling at the wonder of technology. He didn’t know what nail polish was, after all.

Except, then he points at Alana’s picture, and it gets quiet. The screen fades to black, but they all saw.

“You know who that is?” Zoe asks urgently, prioritizing this over her reaction to the superpowers. Evan nods with much more enthusiasm than they’ve seen from him before. The other three exchange a look.

“Do you… do you know _where_ she is?” Zoe asks.

Evan pauses, expression dimming, and everyone holds their breath.

Hesitantly, he nods again.

Connor doesn’t realize how quickly his heart is racing until he hears the front door open and Cynthia calls, “Dinner!” from upstairs.

“Fuck,” Zoe says, as Jared says, “Shit.”

“We can’t-- you know she’ll be suspicious. She’ll come looking,” Connor tells them, because he knows that everyone would rather ignore her in favor of exploring this new revelation.

“But--”

“He’s right,” Jared interjects, expression serious like an actual person with feelings, wow. “Evan will still be here.” The second part is directed mostly at Evan, who nods alertly.

Zoe looks like she’s about to throw up, but she nods as well.

“Stay right here and be quiet, got it?” Connor tells Evan.

The three of them head upstairs to find Cynthia setting two pizza boxes on the table, and the shock almost overrides that of what Evan just revealed.

Upon hearing them come up the stairs, Cynthia turns around. “Oh, hi!” she says, looking at Jared in surprise. “Have we met? I’m Cynthia, Connor and Zoe’s mom.”

Jared smiles. “I’m Jared. So nice to meet you, Mrs. Murphy.”

“Let me suck your dick, Mrs. Murphy,” Connor mocks under his breath.

“So… pizza?” Zoe asks, doing a very good job of pretending like nothing is wrong.

Cynthia winks at her. “I thought we could have a cheat day.”

In other words, _I’m trying to avoid another fight about Alana and hopefully since I brought decent food home you’ll feel too guilty to mention it._ But Connor isn’t going to complain.

“Where’s your father?” Cynthia asks.

“Working late, probably. I didn’t hear him come home,” Zoe replies.

Cynthia’s smile dims just a little. “Oh… well, that’s alright. We’ll just have to save some for him.”

A pause.

“Well, shall we?” Cynthia says. “I’ll get plates. Why don’t you all sit down?”

The kids exchange a glance before doing as she says.

“You kids are awfully quiet,” Cynthia points out, setting plates down in front of them and opening the pizza boxes.

“We were studying,” is the excuse that Zoe comes up with. It doesn’t make a ton of sense, but Cynthia takes it.

“Oh. Well, good! I’m glad you’re all-- that you’re-- well.” Cynthia pauses. “Anyway, help yourselves.”

They each take a slice, eating quietly-- or nibbling worriedly, in Zoe’s case.

“So, how’s the food?” Cynthia asks, trying to break the silence.

“Delicious, Mrs. Murphy,” Jared responds cheesily.

Connor blinks at him. “You know she didn’t actually make it, right?”

“Connor, please.” Cynthia frowns. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Jared.”

Jared smiles, and that’s about it for tonight’s thought-provoking conversation with the Murphys. Connor and Jared finish off their slices, while Zoe is still halfway through hers. Connor stomps on her foot under the table. She looks up slowly and glares at him.

“Here, boys, there are two whole pizzas. Have some more,” Cynthia offers.

“No thanks,” Jared says.

“Oh, come on, you’re teenagers, I know how you eat,” Cynthia jokes. “Here.”

Jared glances at Connor, then at Zoe’s half-eaten slice, then the two pizzas. He takes another. Connor wants to shoot himself.

“Connor?” Cynthia says. “Don’t you--?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” he says, very pointedly at Jared, who looks up and shrugs guiltlessly.

“Alright, then,” Cynthia murmurs, because she knows better than to push it with him.

Time crawls on like an ant in the desert. Or maybe that’s a bad analogy, because wouldn’t an ant die pretty quickly in the desert? Are there ants in the desert? Fuck. The point still stands, though, that Zoe and Jared need to hurry it the fuck up so they can get back downstairs and figure out what’s going on with Evan and Alana. It feels like they’re never going to finish.

Until they do.

Zoe throws her crust onto her plate. “Thanks mom,” she gets out, looking like there’s an itch that she can’t relieve because it’s somewhere under her skin.

“Are you sure you don’t want any more, Zoe? You only had one slice,” Cynthia points out.

“Yeah, mom.”

“Okay,” Cynthia accepts reluctantly. “Well, if you’re all finished. I know it’s Tuesday, but I thought we could have a movie night? Jared, you’re welcome to stay, if you--”

“Sorry, mom. Homework,” Zoe cuts her off swiftly, already standing up.

“Oh. Alright,” Cynthia murmurs. “Well, I’ll just be cleaning up, then. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

None of them respond as they head back into the basement. Evan is in the same spot they left him, and he looks up when they all come in.

“I’ll find her,” he says, shuddering but determined. They all sit, exchanging wary glances.

And this is where things really get weird.

 

Alana Beck hangs up her parents’ phone for the last time, sighs, and sets off to try again in a different place. She walks, and walks, and keeps moving, because even if her hands are getting numbly frigid and her legs feel like dead weights, she is not, and has never been, a quitter.

Alana stands outside of the Murphy’s dead home.

She steps inside.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so yes, this took exactly twelve years, but it's here now!! um I'm so super sorry about the wait, I had an epiphany in the middle of writing this? in the original draft I realized I was writing Mike instead of Connor and! that was not gonna work, so I had to rewrite, and we're here now. I'm really sorry lmao, I promise I still have total interest in this, and the next chapter should be out much quicker. hope I didn't lose everybody.
> 
> in other news, season 2 right?? I still have two episodes left, I wasn't letting myself watch until I finished this last night. I Love Will Byers and I want him to be okay so bad you guys, it's killing me
> 
> tell me what you liked, tell me what you didn’t like, tell me your favorite song, whatever you wanna let me know, I just love hearing from you. the response last chapter was crazy and beautiful and you are so appreciated, thank you. I really hope you're enjoying so far.


	3. zoe murphy gets a text message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor sees something strangely familiar. Zoe and Jared go to school. Evan gets a nosebleed and Alana tries to make some phone calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for blood, puke mention, suicide mention

The basement is quiet. Upstairs, glassware clinks and the dishwasher whirs and Cynthia moves around the kitchen, totally unaware of-- well, a lot of things, for example her son’s suicidal ideation, her daughter’s sexuality, her… son’s sexuality, the general lives and lack of such of both her children. Currently and most importantly, there’s the issue of the kidnapped teenager in her basement, there’s the heavy, seeping weight filling up the room downstairs, like this is a fucking seance, like Evan is about to try and bring Alana back from the dead. Then again, maybe that _is_ what’s going on, assuming Alana is… well, dead. Superpowers, another thing Cynthia doesn’t know about. Can’t forget.

The basement is quiet, and Evan has acquired a napkin.

He keeps twisting it in his hands and then pulling it like he’s trying to break it, but then it doesn’t break because he’s twisted it too tight. He doesn’t take his eyes off it. Neither does Connor for a while, but it gets to the point where they’re supposed to be talking and no one is talking and Jared is frowning at him and Zoe looks like she’s going to cry, and none of them really know how to proceed, here. It would be awkward if Connor weren’t so socially apathetic.

“You-- um. You said you could--?” Zoe begins, finally. She reaches for Evan’s hand across the table, eyes pleading in a look of unmasked desperation that Connor has never quite seen on her before. She looks a little like her mother. That’s a strange observation that Connor doesn’t really know what to do with.

Evan stares back at her, eyes big and searching. He swallows, looks to Connor, looks to Jared, looks down at his lap. For the some-numberth time, nothing happens, despite the fact that everything is happening.

“You said you could find her,” Jared finishes Zoe’s sentence, sort of harshly, arms crossed. He seems skeptical, which is understandable but also not doing much for Evan’s nervousness, so Connor shoots him a look. Jared spares him only a glance, does this stupid little mix of a huff and a scoff, then turns his attention back to Evan, who shudders and sits up a little. The other three stay quiet, waiting.

“She. Um, it’s. Difficult?” he attempts. Connor wants to groan, because that seems like a preset to another tiring conversation circa Evan’s poor (frustrating, shit, fucking weird) communication skills, and he doesn’t know how much more of that he can take.

“Difficult? What does that mean?” Zoe asks, frown deepening.

“Hard to say,” Evan utters quietly.

“Okay,” Zoe says, nodding, really doing her very best to stay calm and be patient; kudos to her. “Well. Is she still in Rodover?”

“Not quite,” Evan whispers, which is a vague and weird response, but okay.

“The state?” Zoe presses.

“Um.”

“The country?” On this one, Zoe’s voice breaks. Evan flinches.

“It’s difficult,” he whispers again.

“Is she alive?” Jared asks, shooting the elephant in the room, and this time Zoe is the one to cringe. Connor doesn’t really-- he doesn’t do anything, not quite getting involved, not yet at least. This is sort of entertaining, but also sort of just. Sad, to watch. Zoe and Jared trying to coax words out of Evan-- or Zoe coaxing and Jared not really having it. Evan struggling and struggling. Weirdly, Connor feels like he’s just chaperoning all of this.

“...I think so,” Evan says. Relief settles over the room like a blanket, but it quickly dissolves into the tension. _I think so_ does not equal _yes._

“So she’s in danger?” Zoe asks bravely. The question comes out in a rush of an exhale, like taking a pill with water. A large, chalky pill. With, like, a tablespoon of water. But she does it, she gets it down, she gets it out.

Evan looks down at his lap for three seconds, like he’s reading something, like he’s looking for his next line. And then, reluctantly, “Yes. She’s... hiding.”

Zoe buries her face in her hands. Her nail polish is chipped, her shoulders are hunched, her hair falls forward like a curtain when she bows her head. Connor watches. Something tugs.

“Hiding from what?” Jared reaches. Zoe sniffles and peeks up. Evan struggles for a moment.

“It… wants to hurt,” he murmurs, staring and staring at his hands, twisting them in his lap, bunching up the napkin. “Wants to-- wants to kill. She’s scared. Cold.”

 _It._ Not he, not she, not they, but _it._ Connor frowns because this is sounding more like the synopsis to a horror movie than anything, but then again, things seem to be taking that direction lately. Zoe lets out a small, choked-back kind of sob and Evan jerks up, startled by it, looking incredibly guilty all of a sudden.

“So then where the fuck is she?” Jared continues, voice wavering, waxy pale and staring at the edge of the table over his glasses. The harshness is dying out, a little. He’s scared.

“It’s like. This?” Evan glances anxiously around at them all. Shakily, he places the crumpled, sweaty napkin on the table, smoothing out the creases to the extent that he can. He draws a line across it using his index finger. “Us. We’re here.” Slowly, he flips the napkin over, the other three watching with confusion and anticipation. “And… Alana is here.”

There’s silence. For a moment, everyone thinks, tries to figure out what the fuck that could possibly mean, where that could be. Whatever cryptic message Evan is hinting at, they don’t have time for it.

“I don’t-- what does that mean?” Zoe asks, desperately looking around the table, as if Connor or Jared might have a better idea than she does. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m sorry,” Evan mutters. None of them tell him that it’s okay, though, because it really isn’t? Nothing fucking is, god. Connor didn’t sign up for this. Did he? Is that was he was doing when he brought home some stray telekinetic in a hospital gown? Fuck.

Evan frowns, fidgeting with his hands, clearly struggling to articulate what needs to be said. “It’s… here, but.” He pauses, glancing up at them helplessly. “...A different kind of here?”

The trio stares at him.

“Oh, I-- oh. Sorry,” he says, nervously, looking back down at his hands.

“‘A different kind of here,’” Connor echoes.

Jared pipes in. “What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?”

Before Evan can elaborate-- or try to, at least-- the lights flicker out and they are plunged into darkness, conveniently. Connor is frozen for a second, looking up the stairs, expecting Cynthia to pop in any minute with something to say, like _oh I wonder what’s wrong with the power, why don’t you kids help light some candles, wait a second who is this other boy I’m calling the police and I don’t care what you have to say about people with guns,_ except no, because through the cracks in the doorway, light peeks through. Whatever this is, it doesn’t seem to be affecting the rest of the house.

“What--” Jared begins, but he’s interrupted by Evan, who cries out, suddenly. They all turn to him, alarmed. He curls up on his chair, clutching fistfuls of his hair with white knuckles, eyes squeezed shut like seeing is hearing and everything is ringing a degree above too loud. He’s breathing heavily, in some kind of intense pain.

Connor’s breath catches, because what the fuck. He grabs Evan’s shoulder instinctively, eyes wide, then he lets go, then he doesn’t-- his hands hover and he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Evan?”

Jared sits up. “What happened?”

Evan just shakes his head in spastic little movements, not giving any indication of what he needs or what’s going on.

“What is this?” Connor asks, panic fluttering in his chest. Dark blood is beginning to drip from Evan’s nose, down his mouth, and Evan makes no attempt to wipe it away.

“Please stop,” is all Evan utters. Something is incredibly wrong and Connor doesn’t think he even has the capacity to know what. Somewhere, a switch has been flipped, a hand is pounding against the shape of TV static, and there’s a new noise in Connor’s head, accumulating, ugly, something like a high-pitched tone that just keeps getting higher and louder and higher and louder until he can’t actually hear it anymore but he knows it’s still there, he knows that it’s still getting higher and it’s still getting louder, and he doesn’t know what it fucking is but it’s _hurting._

And then Zoe’s phone vibrates. And vibrates. And keeps vibrating, on the table, rotating with the movement, over and over, quickly enough that it’s just a continued motion instead of brief, successional bursts. She fumbles for it but whatever she sees has her eyebrows furrowing, eyes widening with fear, like seeing a shaky hand pointed at something behind her, seeing the suicide note but not the body, confusion and the worst kind of potential. She drops the phone like it’s burned her, so Connor lets Evan go and grabs for it. The texts are all the same. They don’t make sense, but they have his heart dropping, like the punchline in a nightmare.

“Who-- how the fuck--” Connor stammers as the repeated message appears over and over, sent from just. From an endless line of numbers, it’s not anyone, it’s not even a phone number, just a string of digits and three words.

_i am here._

The vibration of Zoe’s phone in his hand is starting to feel like a sting, or a shock, a jolt of electricity, whether this be his own panic or Zoe’s phone _actually_ malfunctioning. It’s the type of thing they could blame on a glitch, some broken wire inside the phone, if it weren’t for the content, the actual message. Someone has sent this to them. There is a person on the other end of this phone.

In the back of Connor’s mind, he can hear Jared loudly demanding to see the phone, to know what’s going on, but he can’t stop staring and staring as the messages go by until Evan lets out a guttural cry, snapping him back to the rest of reality, or whatever the fuck you could call this. The phone slips out of his hands, onto the table, and Jared dives for it.

Blood is dripping red and wet into Evan’s mouth as he cries like he’s being stabbed, and Connor.

Connor has no idea what’s happening.

He stares, wide-eyed, mind either frozen or-- or moving too fast for him to-- he has no idea what’s happening.

“Hey,” he hears himself whisper. It goes under the noise, and Evan seems too freaked out to respond anyway, but it’s enough to shake Connor into action.

“Hey,” he says more loudly, ignoring Zoe and Jared’s shouting, ignoring the buzzing from the phone-- well no he’s not really, but he’s trying. His hands make a choice and grab Evan by the shoulders, awkwardly.

“What’s wrong? Evan.” He shakes him, stupidly, brows knitted, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Evan doesn’t show any sign that he even realizes Connor is   there.

“You have to talk to me, I-- I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong,” he presses, as Zoe screams, “Give it fucking _back,_ Jared!”

Connor bows his head, overwhelmed, trying to summon the will not to punch the nearest object, or his sister. “Shut _up,_ Zoe-- Evan, come on--”

“Hurts,” Evan croaks, hands still over his ears, which like. Connor could’ve guessed. The noise gets higher. Louder, still.

“Hurts where?” Connor urges, gaze still trained intensely on Evan’s face, maybe in some attempt to make Evan look at him? Connor isn’t sure what he’s going for, actually. But Evan’s eyes aren’t opening, so it doesn’t really make a difference, anyway. Evan’s lips maybe form a word, maybe just move slightly, but either way Connor can’t tell because of Jared and his shouting.

“What, Evan?” he asks, forcing patience into his voice, except that doesn’t really work and he ends up sounding pissed off anyway.

“Connor what are you _doing?_ ” Zoe bursts incredulously, eyes still flitting around on the phone screen. Everyone ignores her. Evan is melting, kind of.

Jared leans forward suddenly, having an epiphany that’s really just basic fucking logic because Jared is an idiot, and points at Evan. “Is this him? Is this his fault?”

“Guys, the _phone--_ ” Zoe cries, throwing herself back into the cacophony of noise that really isn’t all that loud except for these _fucking vibrations,_ that are sort of white noise by this point and also sort of the only thing that Connor can hear. Someone is shouting from very far away, and Evan jolts, and Jared keeps yelling, and Zoe is panicking, and Connor doesn’t know what to _do,_ and

then it all just sort of. Stops. Well not all of it, like Evan is still crying, obviously, but the loud vibration of the phone has died and the other four have gone quiet with it. The lights come back and Evan flinches like he’s been shocked, then freezes. There’s a hesitation.

And then Zoe scrambles for the phone, fumbling to turn it back on, while Jared watches in anticipation and Connor keeps himself focused on Evan. All that can be heard is heavy, bated breathing from Zoe and Jared, fading whimpers from Evan, and Connor’s own murmurs in an attempt to be reassuring.

“Yeah, just-- here,” Connor utters, gently (hesitantly, slowly) lifting Evan’s chin. “Are you-- here, you’re okay. I’ll find tissues--”

“What the hell?” Zoe cries. Everyone turns to her, except for Evan, who seems sort of dazed and bloody and not really up for turning to things. “They’re gone,” she says.

“What, the texts?” Connor asks troubledly, not meaning to acknowledge her, but. Here we are.

“What else, Encyclopedia Brown?” Jared murmurs. He rolls his eyes, but his heart isn’t in it.

Connor’s brow furrows. “Encyclopedia--”

“It was her, wasn’t it?” Zoe cuts in, sitting up, having some slow realization. And then, suddenly, she’s launching herself at Evan, grabbing his hands like-- like someone who acts like _Connor_ is the crazy one, startling everyone. There’s this unrecognizable expression on her, this wild, desperate, helpless look, as if Evan were some kind of lifeline and not fucking about to faint. “Please, you have to-- that was her, right? Was that Alana?”

Evan freezes up, shaking his head, but in less of a _no it wasn’t her_ way and more of an _oh my god please get off of me_ way.

Instinctively, probably, but Connor wouldn’t know the difference, Connor says, “Lay the fuck off, Zoe,” and shoves her off of him, harshly, by the shoulder. Zoe hits the floor on her tailbone. She’s shocked for a moment before her face scrunches up and she’s beginning to cry. She looks to Jared, who offers her nothing, then to the floor.

“What the fuck is going on?” she whimpers.

This is where Jared springs into action. “Murphy, you better tell your boyfriend to start fucking talking because he clearly knows _something_ about whatever the hell that was--”

 _“Jesus,_ both of you shut the fuck up, he’s fucking _bleeding,_ ” Connor bursts, on his last thread of fucking patience-- or sanity, they’re interchangeable sometimes. “Will you just-- no, no, hey, Evan, keep your head up-- you can fucking interrogate him later, alright?”

 _“Later?_ I don’t know where you’ve been, but this is happening _now--”_ Jared starts, face red with anger or panic or both, but Zoe…

Surprisingly, Zoe stops him.

“No, whatever, Jared, I-- look, I have the phone, let’s just. Can we just go upstairs to figure this out? Please? Evan’s not-- he’s gonna-- look, can we just. Let’s go, okay?” she suggests, pleads, a hand under her nose, eyes puffy and trained to the side.

And Jared looks at her, miserable and confused and crying on the floor, and he looks at Evan’s bleeding nose and contacts Connor’s glare, and he just says, “Fuck this.”

Jared picks himself up, gives up a little, and marches right back upstairs while everyone watches and no one stops him. The door closes loudly.

So the rest of them are left in silence, or not really silence, but it feels like silence compared to whatever the hell that was. Zoe’s gaze moves to Connor and Evan, and then her eyes narrow into a sort of glare. Actually it’s a pretty confident glare, there’s no “sort of” about it, except she seems so defeated that the heat is mostly taken away from it.

Connor used to have this rock collection, this thing he’d started in like, third grade on a trip to some local-ish mining museum. He’d spent his five dollars at the gift shop on this little box of plastic, colorful rocks that were supposed to look like gems or something, and later on the bus, he’d decided that he wanted to make it into a hobby. For maybe a year, any rocks he found that weren’t completely plain went into a box in his room with a plastic ones. He remembers being kind of fond of that collection. Now, he feels like he’s swallowed it.

They watch. Breathe. Zoe sniffles and stands up.

“He’s your fucking problem,” she utters, and then grabs her phone before following Jared.

Connor watches her head up the stairs, something… _something_ in his heart, because he can’t find an adjective, but maybe that’s enough for now. Evan makes a noise and Connor’s attention shifts.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you. Is it still bleeding?”

Evan pauses. “Don’t think so,” he whispers.

“Okay. Good. That’s… good.” Connor lets his eyes wander the room, looking for tissues or paper towels or something that they could use to clean up. There’s a box of Kleenex near the TV. He makes for it.

“Yeah. Here,” he murmurs. “Let’s… actually, how about we go to the bathroom?”

Evan nods, and so Connor helps him up and they head slowly to the bathroom, since Evan is still out of it and Connor isn’t feeling very productive, either. He has Evan sit on the toilet while he runs a ball of tissues under water.

“Let me just-- here. Can you put your head-- yeah, like that. Okay.” Hesitantly, he lifts the tissues and begins wiping the drying blood off of Evan’s face. To Connor’s surprise and gratefulness, Evan doesn’t flinch away.

It’s silent for a while. Evan looks at Connor and Connor tries really hard not to lift his gaze from the lower half of Evan’s face. He feels sick after all of that, but Evan looks a lot worse, so. He says nothing. Questions really can’t wait but will have to until tomorrow anyway, considering the way that Evan is acting like he’d just been hit by a truck.

“Alright,” he says, finishing up. Evan isn’t totally clean but they’re running out of tissue. Connor looks down at the bloody bunch in his hand and frowns. “That’s…” _Gross._ “Fine. Here, come on.” He helps Evan off of the toilet seat and lifts the lid, throwing the tissues in and flushing them down.

“Are you okay?” Connor asks, lowering them both onto the couch. “No, that’s dumb. Sorry. Are you… are you _gonna_ be okay? For tonight?”

Evan lifts his head slightly and watches Connor through glazing, half-lidded eyes. Connor swallows as time passes and is about to call Zoe back out of worry, but Evan’s eyebrows twitch upward slightly and he whispers one word.

“Safe?”

Connor is confused. “What? What do you--”

And then he remembers the whole thing with the fucking-- the “bad people,” the people with guns who are apparently working with the police. With the shit that just went down, he hadn’t even been thinking of that.

“Yeah, um. Safe. Don’t... worry about that,” he agrees. Because fuck knows they can’t send him off _now._

Evan nods, eyes slipping shut in relief or exhaustion or something along those lines. He isn’t saying anything, and Connor knows that he won’t, but the message is getting across that he’d like to be left alone for now. Probably. He’s hard to read and Connor is bad at reading people, but he can imagine.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Connor utters, standing up, hesitating in case Evan miraculously decides that he wants to explain everything here and now. But nothing happens, so he sighs and turns to go. He can feel heavy eyes on him as he heads away.

“‘M sorry,” comes a quiet voice from behind him.

Connor pauses. It doesn’t seem right for him to say that it’s okay or not to worry about it. They’re all worrying. About a lot of things.

A lot of things.

He keeps walking.

Connor goes upstairs, past his parents’ room, past his mother’s, “I heard a lot of noise down there, were you all having fun?”

He doesn’t say anything, obviously, but he offers a small grunt, which is more than she’d usually get. The interaction ends.

There’s murmuring coming from Zoe’s room. He can’t quite make out what Zoe and Jared are saying, and he doesn’t particularly care, but he pauses in front of her door anyway. He feels weird. Not funny or sick, but kind of like he wants to. Yell or something. Not good. Maybe melancholy, except most people don’t want to yell when they’re melancholy, so maybe melancholy but replacing the sad part of that feeling with something angrier. Or maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he thinks too much.

He kicks himself into gear and keeps cycling on until he’s able to collapse in his bed and just. Remember to breathe for a little while longer. Yeah. And that’s what he does, and there’s blood on his fingers but he ignores it, and he lets it all be, just for now.

Sleep takes him, and another day exists.

 

Something wakes him early the next morning, maybe fate, probably anxiety. His gut forecast predicts that today will be long and weird, which sucks. Then again, gut feelings are stupid, then again, Alana is in another dimension probably, then again, shut up. Connor puffs his cheeks up and blows air at his ceiling. Nothing happens.

A glance at his clock tells him that it’s six AM. Begrudgingly, he rolls out of bed, and then spends a moment wondering why he just did that. Then he thinks about Evan, poor, quiet, fucking weird Evan, and the basement seems like a good place to be right now. No-- it seems like an exhausting place to be, but also an important one, which is strange considering that the word “important” really only fell under the categories of weed and dying before he’d have to stick out another school day, up until, like, right now apparently.

He sucks his teeth and blinks. “Okay.”

As he gets closer to the kitchen, he begins to hear whispering-- Zoe-and-Jared-shaped whispering, and it’s almost enough to make him turn around and go back upstairs. But he doesn’t, and he finds the two hunched over the kitchen table, and he stares right back when they cease their murmuring to look at him. No one says anything. The light buzzes.

Yeah.

Connor turns away and continues down towards the basement door. Quietly, he heads down the steps to find Evan still asleep on the couch. It’s sort of a surprise, although Connor isn’t sure why. Evan just doesn’t seem like the type who sleeps. Connor notices dark blood staining his hoodie, something he hadn’t considered or even picked up on the previous night (the sound of the feeling of something-is-trying-to-kill-Alana and the ugly brightness of Zoe’s cellphone and Evan’s blood on Connor’s skin but they won’t talk about that now), and frowns. Evan’s gonna need some new clothes.

His arms cross. Once again, he doesn’t leave, which is odd and annoying. He could just stay here and avoid everyone until Evan wakes up, which sounds pretty nice, but also someone would probably come down here looking for him, which would be bad. So... no.

Evan shifts. Sighs through his nose. It’s silent down here, the type of silent that is only silent until you start listening, and then you start hearing things like the buzz in your own head and Evan’s little hums and the sound of air passing through mouth and lungs, the type of sounds that are white noise until they’re all that’s left to hear. Connor holds his breath to make it quieter. Something is wrong, but it feels smaller than usual.

Time passes and his lungs start to protest, and so he lets the air release and Evan does too and he’s not waking up so Connor shakes his head and goes back upstairs. He makes for his room, pointedly ignoring Zoe and Jared as he passes the kitchen--

“Connor.”

And nevermind, apparently.

Connor sighs and turns around. “Yes?”

Zoe is watching him narrowly, definitively, like she’s expecting a fight. Her hands are curled around a steaming mug of something. “Jared and I are going to the Becks’ after school to see if the phone calls they’ve been getting are connected to…” She gestures, keeps rolling her wrist funnily like she’s looking for the word, and looks to Jared, who shrugs, uselessly. “You know. Yesterday. When we’re done, I’ll text you, and you and Evan can meet up with us at Castle Park to figure out what we should do next.”

Connor inhales slowly. “Wow, great plan, Zoe,” he doesn’t yell, which is good. “I’m so glad you asked for my input--”

“Not now,” she interjects with a pleading kind of tone, holding a hand up, and he’ll admit to himself that she’s right. It’s too early for passive aggressive sarcasm. It’s also too early for passive aggressive ordering-Connor-around-like-he’s-a-little-kid, but whatever.

Footsteps pad down the stairs and they all go quiet. Well, Zoe and Connor go quiet, because Jared was already quiet. Cynthia appears, and she pauses on the last step.

“Good morning, you’re up early-- oh!” she exclaims. “Jared? Did you… spend the night?”

She’s frowning a little, clearly thinking something along the lines of, _were you sleeping in my daughter’s room because I assume you have a penis and I don’t want her pregnant until she’s thirty and married to a lawyer--_

“He slept in my room, don’t freak out,” Connor lies, not to be a hero to Zoe or Jared, but because they don’t need to deal with a lecture from Cynthia on top of everything. Cynthia visibly relaxes. Not today, teen pregnancy.

“Oh. I wasn’t freaking out,” she says calmly.

“Mom, Jared and I were gonna make eggs, if you want some,” Zoe offers, pasting on that thing of hers. The _yeah it’s all great here_ thing. Connor doesn’t really get why she does it.

“That sounds great, sweetheart, thank you.” Cynthia smiles warmly. Connor looks away.

Zoe makes eggs as Jared doesn’t make eggs. Connor sort of wants to check up on Evan again, except it’s only been a few minutes, so why would he do that? But he also can’t bring himself to just go back upstairs, so this is the medium, a lose-lose situation if anything, but it’s fine. He moves to the jointed living room and flops down on the couch.

Zoe makes three plates of food. Maybe she’s forgotten that he’s still there.

“Connor, there’s some left in the pan if you want it,” she tells him, not looking at him. Except, he doesn’t like eggs. So it’s pointless.

Larry comes down eventually, like an asshole, and takes what’s been left in the pan for Connor. There’s some idle chatter, but it’s silence and unspoken kidnapping-related-what-the-fucks, mostly. And then Connor thinks, _kidnapping?_ Because, like. That’s what they all were sort of assuming for a while there, except Evan had said that she was _hiding_ from something, which is. Well maybe she--

“Connor,” Larry grumbles-- cutting off Connor’s inner monologue, rudely. Connor ignores him with this loud kind of _yeah I’m ignoring you_ thing. It’s practiced.

A moment goes by before Cynthia pipes up with, “Connor, your father is trying to get your attention,” like he simply hadn’t heard, giving him the benefit of the doubt, which he doesn’t really want anyway.

Connor makes an irritated throat noise before sitting up. “What?”

Larry is standing there and frowning at him from the kitchen. “Your phone,” he says, “is here. Although with that attitude, I might reconsider giving it back just yet--”

Cynthia mutters something to her husband that Connor can’t make out. Judging by Larry’s, “Cynthia, his actions need to have consequences--,” however, he thinks he can guess.

He looks to Zoe, expecting either a condescending sneer of _you’re so incompetent, mom and dad would never have this problem with_ me, or a disapproving frown of _look, you made them fight again, when are you going to stop this?_ She is, rather, secretively conversing with Jared again, which figures. Connor sighs.

“The phone is on the counter. I’m going to work,” Larry announces haughtily, putting a cap on whatever argument Connor had zoned out of.

“Oh, but dear, you don’t have to leave for another twenty minutes--” Cynthia points out as if Larry actually doesn’t realize this. He grabs his cellphone and his bag. The door shuts, and her shoulders fall.

Her family is falling apart with a smile. She’s ignorant to the telekinetic teenager being hosted in her basement. Woe is Cynthia Murphy.

“Connor, you-- you aren’t dressed,” she points out, then. “You need to get ready for school, you only have ten minutes, honey, and you need something to eat--”

“I feel sick,” he cuts in bluntly, sorta unconvincingly, and wow, that one takes him back. Behind Cynthia, Zoe actually stops plotting with Jared to roll her eyes at Connor-- but it’s not like she can say anything, this time.

Cynthia frowns like she doesn’t believe him and starts moving forward, placing a hand on Connor’s forehead. He jerks back.

“You don’t have a fever,” she tells him. Connor is ready to keep up the improv, but surprisingly, Zoe beats him to it.

“I heard him puke this morning,” she announces confidently-- really, like. Not holding back.

“Ew,” Jared contributes.

Cynthia’s frown shifts, because she won’t believe Connor, but when it comes from _Zoe..._

“What?” she says worriedly. “Well, maybe we should take you to the doctor--”

“No, it’s fine,” Connor interjects quickly, shooting a look at his sister. “I’ll just stay here and rest.”

The numbers on the clock change as another minute goes by. It’s a losing battle for Cynthia. “...Okay, honey, but I won’t be home to take care of you,” she says. “I’m having coffee with Gretchen and Anita and I’ll be running errands all afternoon, maybe I’ll pop in for lunch…”

“Great, perfect,” Connor dismisses, trying to seem just the right amount of okay with this. “I’ll be fine.”

“Jared and I are going to school now,” Zoe announces, standing up and putting her backpack on. Jared looks at her like she’s startled him, but follows lead.

“You-- oh, sure,” Cynthia says. “Here, Jared, your shoes, I put them right by the door for you…”

As Cynthia heads away, Connor leans back, ready to lie in wait until he has the house to himself, except then something _thwacks_ into his ribcage and topples onto his stomach and “What the hell--”

“Your phone.” And Zoe is there, frowning at him like she’s not the one who just threw an iPhone at him. That’s becoming a bad habit. “Don’t forget to check it.”

He scowls, because _jesus,_ he would’ve gotten up for it himself, what the fuck is her problem, but she’s walking away and he’s... uncharacteristically not going to make a bigger deal out of it. Maybe the prospect of murder and Zoe’s phone being possessed by a fucking demon have made him a bigger person.

He sighs at the ceiling. The sound of the front door opening, murmured goodbyes and a kiss on the cheek, the sound of the front door closing. Connor does his best _I’m dying_ impression, which is kind of how he usually is anyway.

“Gretchen is going to pick me up in about ten minutes, Connor,” Cynthia informs him from across the room.

“Cool,” says he.

“...You know, I could call and say I can’t make it--”

“No, don’t do that.”

“But if you’re throwing up, sweetie--”

“Mom. Go to your coffee thing. I’ll be fine,” he exasperates. “If I need you, I’ll text you or something. Okay?”

Cynthia appears in Connor’s line of vision. He coughs, for show.

“Will you? Really?” She urges, a hand on her hip, trying to be no-nonsense but ending up somewhere around concerned, instead.

He rolls his eyes. _“Yes,_ I will, stop worrying about it.”

“I’m your mother, it’s my job to worry,” she… jokes? She says it lightly but her shoulders sort of sag and she frowns before walking back into the kitchen. There’s the clatter of dishes being put in the sink. Water rushes from a faucet. He lets the matter drop.

Connor’s phone vibrates on his stomach, startling him, which is nice. He picks it up and opens his messages, finding a text from Zoe.

_Didn’t want to say this in front of mom. Do you know what’s up with the tat on Evan’s neck?_

Wow, what a weird question that’s sort of cryptic and also very confusing.

 _the tat,_ he types back, leaving the question mark implied.

_The tattoo omg_

Connor spends a few moments breathing in limbo, staring at his screen, wondering if he should be pissed or not. Is she messing with him? A trio of dots appears once, and then disappears. They don’t come back.

 _what the hell are you talking about,_ he decides on.

It takes a long time for Zoe to reply. When she does, it’s with, _I gtg, just ask him about it,_ which is _entirely_ unhelpful, thanks, Zoe. But he kind of needs to know what the fuck that’s about, now. He sits up and glances at his mother in the kitchen. She glances back. Slowly, he looks away and lowers himself back down.

Ten minutes. He can wait ten minutes.

The faucet shuts up, the ticking clock doesn’t, Connor breathes and chews his nail polish away. Cynthia busies herself in the kitchen for a never-ending fifteen minutes before a car beeps twice outside.

“Oh, honey, that’ll be Gretchen.” Cynthia puts something down and Connor sighs, almost like he’d been holding his breath. There’s footsteps, shuffling, more footsteps. Cynthia reappears in front of him, holding a purse, frowning.

“I mean it, Connor, you call me if you throw up again or start to feel worse,” she orders.

“Yeah, whatever mom, go,” he dismisses, impatient.

She clicks her tongue, pauses. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you later today.” Cynthia goes to kiss his forehead, but he leans away. She retreats.

Footsteps, the front door opening.

“I love you. I’ll call to check in.”

The sound of a sigh. The front door closing.

He waits, like, thirty seconds before he’s sure it’s safe and then jumps up, heading to the basement. “Evan?” he utters, first making sure that Evan isn’t still asleep.

“Hi,” a small voice murmurs back.

“Hey.” He makes his way down the rest of the stairs, pausing at the bottom, taking in Evan’s hunched frame at the edge of the couch, clothes streaked with blood, eyes dull from sleep but as exhausted as you’d expect from someone who’d just-- well. Whatever it was he had done last night. His mouth is tilted downwards, hands in his pockets. He returns Connor’s gaze with tentativeness. Supposedly, there’s a tattoo on the back of his neck, but Connor hasn’t confirmed that one just yet.

He looks vulnerable when he’s sleeping, but somehow he’s even more fragile like this. Connor doesn’t like that. And what to say now?

“Everyone left already. We can go upstairs or something, if you want,” he suggests, attempts.

Evan looks away. Not rudely, just tired and indifferent and something else.

“How... are you?” Connor gets out. He’s so bad at that question, both ends of it, but it feels important.

Evan’s head drops. It lifts. He inhales. Connor is slightly worried.

“Water?” Evan utters, which is easy. Connor nods.

“Yeah, come on. We can get breakfast, too.”

And they go upstairs, and Evan gets his water, and Connor keeps glancing at him as he makes them both bowls of cereal. Evan takes his dry. In fact, he seems a little weirded-out by Connor having his with milk, but he doesn’t say anything, either too polite or inarticulate.

Evan hardly picks at his gluten free cornflakes, and Connor can’t blame him because they’re gross and tasteless, but he also assumes that he isn’t very hungry, anyway. They’re both thinking about other things. Like superpowers and blood and Alana Beck, and presently, the tattoo. Connor doesn’t know how to approach that one, exactly. Should he just ask? He purses his lips and raises his gaze to Evan, who stiffens and inhales, refusing to make eye-contact. So, maybe not. Not yet.

Connor looks away, sparing him. They finish eating pleasantly, which is to say they mostly don’t, and two nearly-untouched bowls are left on the table when Connor says, “Did you wanna shower or something?”

“Shower?” Evan repeats back. He still isn’t looking at Connor, but his brow furrows. Which, okay, Connor wants to say something like, _Seriously? Do you not know what a shower is?_ but at this point, is he _really_ all that surprised? Maybe confusion would be the normal response, but it’d just feel fake. He cuts to the chase instead.

“Clean up. Rinse off. With water. Like rain, but inside, and you use soap and stuff. Make sense?” he explains. Connor pleads that this kid doesn’t ask him what rain is. He kind of looks like he wants to, but instead he nods slowly. Connor sighs.

“Okay. Well, let’s-- come on. I’ll show you how it works.”

They head up to Connor’s room, first. He digs through his closet (the door is labelled “Spider Country” in silver Sharpie though he can’t recall why) while Evan hovers behind him, studying the Pollock imitation of spilled nail polish on the floor.

“How about this?” Connor emerges with a black hoodie and jeans that will probably definitely be kind of long on Evan, but there’s nothing they can really do about that. Evan spares the clothing a glance, just sort of because he only really looks for a millisecond, and nods.

“Okay,” he utters.

“Okay,” Connor says. He grabs socks and briefs, randomly. “Um, are you ready, or did you want to keep analyzing my floor?”

Evan’s head snaps up. “Ready,” he says, quietly and alarmed, like Connor had yelled at him, like he’d been caught doing something bad, and for a moment Connor has to pause and wonder who the fuck is trying to hunt this kid down. Well, that’s not to say he hadn’t already been wondering that, but the thought floats to surface, made buoyant by Evan’s deer-in-the-headlights expression and hunched posture, like the last thing he would ever want to do is get into someone’s way or make trouble.

Connor frowns, because he hadn’t meant it like-- he hadn’t meant to freak Evan out. “Sorry,” he says, “no, I. I didn’t mean it like--”

“Sorry,” Evan rushes, “it’s not--”

“I wasn’t trying to--”

“It’s okay.” Evan shakes his head like this is just. A conversation he really does not want to have, for some reason, and he’s looking at the floor, reading a script, again.

Connor pauses. Shifts the bundle of clothing in his arms. “...Okay,” he mutters. “Well-- come on.”

Evan comes on.

They step into the bathroom, where in fact there is an orange bottle and a plan, and Connor just. He does not think about that. He doesn’t look at the medicine cabinet, which sure is a good and fun thing to do, and Evan definitely seems to notice him not thinking or looking if the questioning stare is anything to go by. But, mercifully, he says nothing. Connor sticks the clothes on top of the closed toilet lid and grabs a towel from the cabinet underneath the sink. The big dipper is stuck in his head and there’s something about a flashlight, but he doesn’t linger enough to clarify that. That doesn’t matter. That doesn’t have to be real, right now.

“Okay. Yeah.” He turns around to face Evan, who is fidgeting, who is real. “Our shower is weird, but it’s not actually like, complicated. Here, you just. You pull this thing up to turn it on…”

He demonstrates, leaning forward to grab the shower handle. Water comes shooting from the shower head and Evan jumps back with startled yelp, which makes Connor jump, which makes him nearly slip and grab across to one of the little shelves for support, which makes his sleeve kind of wet.

“Wait, no,” he begins, righting himself. “Look, it’s fine, it’s just-- it’s water. Feel it.”

He goes first, sticking his palm under the running water, and then he looks back at Evan, who is wide-eyed and afraid. _Concerned_ is a better word, maybe. Connor nods him on.

“You’re fine,” he says.

Evan, who seems to kind of disagree, takes a couple steps forward anyway. He reaches out, but he keeps hesitating. It feels almost like. Like this is wrong, like this is not what should be happening right now, like Connor should be cooping him up in the basement until he gives them some real answers, or-- or even better, just handing him off to the police instead of explaining how the shower works, but he just. Maybe it feels even more wrong to be doing either of those things, in a different way. So, instead, he awkwardly and tentatively takes Evan’s wrist and lifts it to the water, attemptedly helping him forward, in a way. Evan flinches as the water hits his skin, but then he relaxes, possibly, just a little bit.

“Oh,” he murmurs.

“Okay?” Connor confirms, watching Evan, eyebrows raised.

Evan returns his gaze, lips just slightly parted, and he nods.

It’s a little ridiculous, a lot strange, and in the span of things Connor isn’t sure how he got here. But he’s… kind of okay with it.

“And then you-- if you want it to be more hot, you turn it this way, and if you want it to be colder, it’s-- oh, yeah, you can try--”

Connor steps back, allowing Evan to do his thing, and he’s not really thinking about the tattoo anymore until he actually catches sight of it. Just a little dot of ink, on the back of Evan’s neck, mostly obscured by the jacket. But it’s there, it exists, sure enough. Connor frowns.

“So is-- is that a tattoo?”

Evan stiffens, and Connor doesn’t know what he expected. A hand goes back to clasp over it, and Evan turns, leaving the shower running behind him.

“Doesn’t-- doesn’t mean anything,” Evan utters.

Something is wrong. The atmosphere is breathing down Connor’s neck, suddenly.

“Can I see it?” Connor asks, despite this. Maybe it’s horrible, but the tension is really just fueling his curiosity. Evan breathes in, Evan breathes out. Connor watches, patient, kind of.

“It doesn’t-- mean anything,” Evan repeats.

“Got it,” Connor affirms, tentative, slow and slow, “but that doesn’t answer my--”

“I know.” Evan nods quickly and curtly. He’s scratching at the tattoo. “You can-- you can. Just. Don’t touch, okay?”

“I won’t,” Connor says, earnest, confused. Evan nods again and turns around, bowing his head the tiniest bit. Fidgeting more. The tattoo is still somewhat hidden by the jacket.

Connor steps forward. “Here,” he says, taking the hood, awkwardly. “Can you--”

“Oh,” Evan says, jolting and unzipping the jacket, removing it hurriedly.

Connor blinks. “Yeah. That.” He takes his jacket back, tosses it to the designated laundry corner, realizes that Cynthia will probably be asking questions if she picks up his bloodstained hoodie. He’ll grab it later.

Evan’s hand is gripped in the matts of hair behind his head, and he looks like he’s restraining himself from covering his neck back up. As Connor turns to him, it wafts into him unpleasantly that the tattoo is actually incredibly and creepily. Well, it’s familiar.

Roots. Tree roots? Spindling down, stemming down from a stump, just a small thing confined within a perfect circle. It looks ridiculously familiar to him, so on the tip of his tongue that he can taste it, unsettling in how it hits him.

“Oh, it’s so cool,” he says instead of voicing this. “I always wanted a tattoo? My parents would throw a fucking fit-- I guess yours… well.”

Awkwardly, the air doesn’t change. Evan turns around, hesitantly, slowly, and they continue to straddle trust and being unable to make eye-contact with one another.

“What does it--” No, bad question. “What is it supposed to be?” Connor corrects. Prodding for just a clue.

Evan just kinda… shrugs, and keeps looking away. “It’s just there,” he murmurs, and this isn’t working.

“...Okay. I’ll let you shower.” Connor sighs and drops the tattoo into a mental folder for now. “Um, so it’s like. You know baths?” he prays, because this kid must’ve kept some form of hygiene in his life.

Evan nods, some sort of understanding dawning on him.

“Yeah, it works just like that, except you stand up. And when you’re done you turn the water off and dry off, and then put those clothes on. You can just leave the ones you have on in that corner.” Connor gestures. “Got it?”

“...Got it,” Evan affirms in a way that makes Connor think that he definitely has not got it.

“You sure?” Connor raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Well you-- if you have a question, just yell for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Evan affirms again.

Connor doesn’t really know how to exit. “Okay,” he says again, and then turns to go. He grabs his jacket on the way out.

He shuts the door behind him and he _breathes,_ and he tries not to linger on the shit Evan might be getting himself into right now, which is actually really easy considering the tattoo which is now at the front of his mind and how the familiarity of it adds a whole nother puzzle piece to this damn nine-hundred-piece jigsaw. Why is everything so creepy with Evan? Or, not everything, like Evan himself isn’t creepy… anymore, but between the “bad people” and the superpowers and the shit with Zoe’s phone and all that blood, maybe Connor did die that night and this is some fucked morality final to test how badly he should be punished in the afterlife. Or, maybe not, maybe he’s just… overthinking. More. He wouldn’t have told you that an afterlife existed, but he also wouldn’t have told you that telekinesis was a thing up until yesterday, so the universe is full of ugly surprises apparently.

He goes back to his room. He sits on his bed. Contemplates the tattoo, where the hell he knows that symbol from, and gets just about nowhere when his phone dings with a text from an unknown number. _watching u right now ;),_ it says. Connor squints. What the fuck?

And then a second one, about a minute later, from Zoe-- _I gave jared your number btw,_ which explains it. And pisses him off a little, because why in the name of asshole christ would she do that?

 _wtf zoe,_ he types back. All he gets in response is three little dots, which linger for a moment before disappearing back into the void of Zoe’s unfinished text messages, a faction of the place named “Ways I Like To Spite/Annoy My Brother Until He Dies Because I Hate Him.”

 _get your hand out of your pants,_ he texts back to Jared before changing the contact name to “do not respond to this person.”

 _suck em!_ Jared responds, which is both fun and creative. Connor, who can personally vouch for Jared’s neverending plethora of Hilarious Jokes, clicks his phone off.

And then he dies. No, he doesn’t, but y’know. He mostly lies there and waits for Evan to hopefully come back without getting lost in the Da Vinci code of his shower and wonders if it would be too much to ask to get a photo of the symbol on his neck. For Zoe. And Jared, or something. See if either of them can place where it’s from better than he can.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles to some unplaceable tune until the syllables get fucked up. His something-like-a-trumpet-solo keeps blowing one strand of hair out of his face, only for it to float back down again. Is this a normal response to the situation he’s in? Is this rock bottom? Is it appropriate to stare at your ceiling and hum when there’s a telekinetic teenager possibly injuring himself in your shower? More time passes, and no questions are answered.

Evan gets out of the shower within like, fifteen minutes, without a scratch. His hair is wet and he smells like soap, as one would after taking a shower. His nail polish is very chipped and he keeps tugging at the hoodie strings. Standing in Connor’s doorway. Saying nothing.

“Hi,” Connor says.

“Hi,” Evan says.

And it’s weird, because nothing happens after that. Evan scratches his hoodie string and doesn’t move except for that and Connor watches him and sometimes he likes the quiet but only when it’s louder than his brain.

“Do you want to see my rock collection?” Connor blurts.

Evan blinks. “Your… rock--?”

“Rock collection.” What an embarrassing and random suggestion, what the fuck? “It’s old and stuff, but.” He sits up and shrugs.

“Okay,” Evan murmurs, slightly confused, which is not a factor of being weird and not knowing things, rather just. A normal response.

“Okay,” Connor nods and hops off his bed. “Um.”

He digs around in Spider Country. There’s a number of random boxes, actually. Old toys and art and shoes and stuff. Eventually, after digging through heaps of tiny cars and light up Sketchers, he finds a shoebox labelled “ROCK COLLECTION,” faintly with red Magic Marker.

He drags the box out of the closet like it’s heavy, which it isn’t. Sits cross-legged on the floor and opens it up. Invites Evan, who does not need an invitation, over, because he still isn’t moving and probably wouldn’t have until Connor told him to. Evan joins him. Connor opens up the shoebox and they peer inside.

It’s very anticlimactic. There’s like, ten rocks of varying sizes, mostly the same color, a couple of seashells, plus, naturally, the fake ones, the originals.

“Why?” Evan murmurs, posing a fantastic question.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought they were cool. They’re… not,” Connor utters, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry.”

Evan nods. There’s silence for a bit.

And then, “I like this one,” Evan says quietly, pointing to a chipped pink seashell.

“Really?” Connor mutters, picking it up for them to look at. “Yeah, I guess this one is sorta. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Zoe always used to argue that seashells aren’t rocks, but I looked it up, and, y’know. They are.”

“Seashell,” Evan repeats quietly. To himself, Connor assumes, so Connor doesn’t say anything. The shell goes back into the box.

“Hermy?” Evan utters then, which is weird.

“What?”

Instead of responding, Evan pulls a brown stone out of the box and shows it to Connor. ‘Hermy’ is scribbled on the top in marker, in child’s handwriting.

“Oh!” The memory dawns. “Yeah, that’s-- nothing, just. Me and Zoe wanted a-- you know, a hermit crab? When we were little, but we were never allowed to have one, so we. Had this instead. We forgot about it after like, an hour, it’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right.”

Empty space, again.

“Did you.” Connor clears his throat. “Did you have anything like this when you were little? Like, collections and stuff.”

Evan pauses. “No.”

“What were you into?” Connor approaches. Trying to be subtle, kind of. He knows that the past is a weird subject for Evan. On second thought, he doesn’t know how much of it is even really… well, past. They did find him wearing a hospital gown in the woods only two days ago.

The present is a weird subject for Evan, then. Really, everything is a weird subject for Evan. Yeah. Subjects are weird for Evan.

Another pause, longer. Evan picks up a rock and puts it back down. “I drew,” he answers, finally.

“...Yeah? Me too,” Connor shares.

“I had a little. A little, um.” Evan gestures like he’s holding something in his hands, but he can’t find the word. “A. Like a plant?”

Connor nods him on.

“Yeah, it was. I… drew it a lot,” Evan elaborates sheepishly.

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

“I had a-- um, when I was like, nine or ten I really wanted a cat?” Connor continues, not wanting this conversation to die. “And so my mom gave me this-- it was this little thing of flowers, I don’t know what they were, but she said we would see how I could take care of those first.”

“Oh,” Evan says.

“Yeah. They-- they died. After, like, a week.”

Evan nods. Some time goes by. Connor wracks his brain for something new to say.

“Did you. Did you get a cat?” Evan presses, breaking the silence before Connor can. Connor blinks, a little surprised.

“Well, no, ‘cause the flowers, they. Died.”

“Oh.”

“But that’s-- y’know. I stopped wanting one, anyway.” The vibe of this conversation is not really. Having a great time. Which, maybe it usually isn’t with Connor, except he usually never notices because he usually never cares.

Things are taking a funny direction.

“Did you have any pets?” Connor leaps to the next thing. As he says this, his mind suggests those little animal partners that magic people are supposed to have, like a mysterious disappearing cat or a bird that talks or something. Mediums? Something like that, whatever. That’s probably an offensive stereotype anyway. A stereotype for… magical people.

Connor comtemplates this, and it’s weird.

“No.” Evan shakes his head. “Just… sometimes, but not. Really.”

Vague and cryptic, of course, which is always quality with Evan. Connor tries to figure out what “not really,” a pet could be. “Like a fish?” he asks. “Or bugs or something?”

“No.” Evan is frowning, now. He pushes a blue chunk of plastic around at the bottom of the box halfheartedly before taking his hand away and sitting back. “Can we-- um.”

“Do something else?” Connor fills in the blank. Evan nods.

“Okay, yeah. We can-- ...we can,” he agrees. He closes the shoebox and awkwardly shoves it in the direction of the closet. It doesn’t slide very far. The contents rumble.

This is like… this feels like a playdate, like when you’re in kindergarten and you have no friends and your mom drags you along to another mom’s house and you don’t really know the kid so it’s just an endless cycle of “what do you want to do?” “I don’t know, what do you want to do?”

“What do you want to do?” Connor asks, like he thinks he’s being cute or something. Evan shrugs in response.

It’s easy to picture what Evan was like as a child, actually. Or Connor thinks so? He can imagine that quiet kid in the back of the room who reads and cries a lot. Good at school and teachers like him. Someone really, just… good, who would’ve pissed Connor off, probably, for being so good so easily.

“You know Mario Kart?” Connor broaches, then. Evan shakes his head, which isn’t surprising.

“Well, it’s. It’s a video game, like racing and stuff, do you. We could try it?” he suggests. “I haven’t played since like, middle school, so we can figure it out together.”

“Okay,” Evan says very quietly.

“Okay,” Connor says, also quietly.

 

Mario Kart is complicated. They’d played Luigi’s Mansion for a bit, then Yoshi Falls because they kept losing, and it was sort of fun but not really and they’d eventually decided to watch movies instead. They’re in the basement where Evan had cried and bled the previous night, where Zoe had panicked and Jared had shouted and Connor had frozen while someone else had seeped into the atmosphere like a ghost, but it doesn’t feel like it.

Four o’clock is nearing kind of fast and Evan is asleep on the couch while Connor takes the floor and curiosity-watches some obscure Frozen knock-off. His phone dings, annoyingly, with a text from Zoe.

_Castle park_

_Me and Jared are at the Becks and we’ll be done by the time you get there._

Connor leans back and sighs. And sighs. Evan, unconscious, puffs out a bit of air in agreement.

Time for more things.

“Hey, Evan.”

 

On the colder side of home, there is no sun nor moon, no color in the sky, however there is Alana Beck. If someone were to ask, “How are you?” on this day, her answer would probably involve swear words. But she’s pushing on, thanks. She keeps going.

Which is to say she’s remained curled up in the Murphy’s basement, crying on-and-off, trying to reach someone in the normal world for hours. Frostbite is a concern at this point. She can’t find a mirror and she doesn’t really want to. So, she’ll sit for a bit, she’ll keep her hands tucked under her arms, and then she’ll. Well, she’ll keep trying to make contact, she supposes. Otherwise, what? If she didn’t give up when Andy Ramos had a seizure in the library two years ago and the librarian left them alone while she ran off for help, she won’t give up now. This situation feels scary, but it’s okay. She just needs to keep asking herself, “what’s next?”

What’s next is turning her phone on and making more calls to Zoe. Which is frustrating and tiring and not really working, not that she can see, at least, but it’s very simple, which is what matters. Eye on the ball, Alana.

She has this constant pulse of adrenaline, like she’s being chased. And another feeling of being watched, only sometimes, only faintly. And another feeling, similar to the last one, of _we hear you and we’ll find you._ Maybe that one is wishful thinking. Alana is a wishful thinker sometimes.

But she is, firmly and with determination, going to be alright. She blows on her trembling hands and keeps them cupped over her open mouth for a moment, just a moment. Closes her eyes. Lives. Keeps living and living for a prolonged moment until it starts to feel more natural and she can try calling Zoe again. And, despite everything, she keeps breathing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah okay miss "the next chapter should be out much quicker"
> 
> sorry lol I'm gonna start doing shorter chapters, we'll see how that goes, thanks for being patient and I love you?? please leave a comment and/or message me on tumblr and we can be friends (I love friends a lot!) and I will be motivated and I'll also be very happy as well as motivated, every comment is treasured!
> 
> ALSO thanks a lot to [charactershoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charactershoes) for reading this a million times and being very helpful!! honestly you're the coolest ever
> 
> thanks so much for being so kind to me, let me know your favorite part or line or animal or anything
> 
> hope you have a wonderful day


	4. jared kleinman expresses a belated opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor avoids benches. Evan climbs a tree. Jared freaks out, kind of, and Zoe won't answer any texts. Alana needs a blanket and a better hiding spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi I have a lot of thank-you's for this one <3
> 
> tw for a very very vague discussion of an abusive past, suicidal thoughts as always

When you aren’t dead, going back to the destination of your almost-suicide is kind of a weird ordeal. With the stealth of a person who is doing this, Connor avoids the area with the playground, the edge of the woods, the bench. He and Evan take a longer route to the duck pond, making sure they don’t encounter the bench, don’t touch it, leave it tucked into that folder in his mind of Things Connor Is Not Going To Think About Right Now. The duck pond has ducks, and it also has benches, and the benches look the same as the one he was going to die on, but none of them are that same bench, probably. He doesn’t look at the stupid benches. He looks at the trees and he looks at the ducks and he looks at the pavement. Under his skin, he’s itchy, but he’s not scratching. Evan, on the other hand, is scratching.

Evan is… Evan has an actual reason to be nervous. They’ve got him geared up with dark clothes, off-brand sunglasses, and he’s covered by his hood. Also Uggs, which is fun. He looks inconspicuous and unrecognizable to any passersby who might think, _hey, there’s that kid I’ve been trying to hunt down, better grab him and get back to torturing him or whatever the hell it is I’ve been doing._ Connor glances at him. Evan doesn’t glance back, his face half-concealed from Connor’s angle of him, and twists his hands up like he really kind of needs another napkin to play with and/or sweat on. They stand there, onlookers. A duck says “quack” and nothing happens.

“So--” says Connor, except then Evan is walking somewhere. Connor, wordless, watches him head to the edge of the pond, kneel down, and then pick something up. Evan comes back, staring at the thing in his hands, until he’s close enough for Connor to see that it’s a dirty gray stone.

Evan holds the rock out in a swift, awkwardly hesitant gesture.

“Uh, thanks.” Connor takes it. He is confused.

“No, it’s.” Evan shakes his head. “You know, for your--”

 _“Oh,”_ goes Connor, stupidly. “That’s-- okay, thank you.” He slips the rock into his jacket pocket, and he’s. Well he’s feeling something? Something he isn’t totally sure how to express, but that’s fine, because Evan isn’t paying very close attention anyway.

Evan sits on the grass like he knows something about benches that Connor also knows. He doesn’t, but Connor appreciates it anyway and sits down beside him. He’s got a rock, now.

“Okay,” Connor says.

“Okay,” Evan whispers.

And now they’re sitting on the grass, and a woman jogs by and a dog barks from far away, and Connor picks lint off his pants and Evan fidgets. A lot. He’s watching the ducks. He’s nervous. Exceptionally nervous. It’s making Connor nervous. They’re just… nervous.

Instead of acknowledging this, Connor pulls his phone out. _where are you,_ he texts to Zoe. He waits. His screen is cold. No dots appear. He sighs, checks to make sure that his ringer is still on, and puts away his phone.

 _What’s bothering you?_ he asks Evan. Except no, he doesn’t, he just. Sits there. They both do. It’s a real fuckin’ palooza, hanging out in the dirt while they stare at their respective accumulating anxieties.

Connor pops.

“Hey, don’t like. You don’t have to--” he attempts, weirdly. Tries again. “You think someone’s gonna recognize you?”

Evan hesitates, then shrugs, and that’s in the air now. That exists, and it’s enough.

“Well okay, I mean. Don’t-- that’s what this is for, right?” Connor reaches a bit and tugs on the side of Evan’s hood. Then he regrets it. Then Evan turns slightly to look at him, quirks the side of his mouth into not _quite_ a smile, and Connor regrets it less.

“Right,” Evan answers. The quirk fades, though. Evan rests his chin on his knees and picks a blade of grass, not idly. He still seems like he’s on high alert, but he’s also holding grass, now. Connor doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t usually do things at all.

“Do you want to-- we could find somewhere less open to wait, you know. Maybe there’s, like, I don’t know. Maybe we could find a bathroom--”

“No,” says Evan, slowly ripping up the ground, piece by piece, “it’s-- I’m okay.”

“...Yeah? Is that. I mean, are you sure?” Connor asks, staring at Evan’s hands, which are tight and red and sort of a giveaway to the fact that Evan is not okay, actually. “Because you’re sorta fuckin’--”

Evan frowns, which sucks, and Connor retreats.

“Okay, yeah, nevermind.”

Minutes pass. Connor wants the sun to set. He wants his sister to get her stupid fucking girlfriend back, and he wants Jared to go home and stay there, and he wants to just. He feels like the next time he sits down on one of these benches, he won’t be able to get up ever again. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. He wants to not think about it.

He checks his phone, which weirdly and annoyingly keeps on not buzzing, but all he’s got is a little, _come back, we miss you,_ from a game app.

 _Kill yourself, Connor,_ says one of these asshole benches. _Shut the fuck up,_ he says in return, pinching himself. Warning signals are going off in his head, _Don’t Sit On That Bench Because It Is The Physical Representation Of Your Suicidal Thoughts And Feelings._ He needs something to hit, or music to turn up all the way, or.

Or, “Who are the bad people?”

Evan drops his handful of grass in this way like, _I thought we’d already established that this was an off-limits topic,_ or that’s what Connor assumes, at least. The air gets colder, except no it doesn’t. He curls up tighter anyway. Evan tugs and tugs at the ground until he has his bunch of grass back. There’s a ripping sound as he defaces the earth, and then quiet. Weird, ugly quiet.

“Okay. Could you just-- could you give me a clue?” Connor prods. “Like, is it your family? Is someone trying to hurt your family, are you being hurt _by_ your family--”

“Just papa,” Evan says then, so, so quietly, like it’s taboo, like they’re talking about someone who is watching from nearby. “And his-- he calls them ‘friends,’ but.”

Connor is so surprised that Evan has actually responded that for a moment, the words don’t even register. And then they do, and an idea sinks down all the way to his gut, and his mind goes to a bad, bad place, where it stirs and accumulates. He keeps pinching himself in the leg, but his brain doesn’t go away and his calf just hurts, now.

“Is it-- so it’s your dad, then?” he asks with the false demeanor of someone who does not want to drop this whole thing suddenly, trying to prompt a little more out of Evan.

“Not dad,” Evan corrects. “Papa.” Things get really quiet, then.

“What’s the difference?” Connor utters.

Evan looks down. Shakes his head. “I don’t want to-- can we not--”

“Okay. We don’t have to,” Connor murmurs. Rocks are in his stomach, again. He grabs the one from his pocket and weighs it a whole bunch in his hand.

Zoe still hasn’t texted him back. He grabs his phone and stoops to a new low.

 _where the fuck are you guys,_ he asks Jared Kleinman, drastically.

 _suck my asshole,_ Jared responds in spirit, because he actually doesn’t respond at all. Things keep fucking… buzzing, everything except for his phone, which he sort of wants to throw at a duck right now.

Fuck ducks, fuck Zoe and Jared, fuck, like… whatever. Most things.

“If I go look for them, can you just. Stay here and wait? In case they show up?” Connor pipes, because there’s a difference between ‘dad’ and ‘papa’ and he wants to, like. Air that one out. He also wants to hunt down Zoe and Jared and yell at them, or at least passive-aggressively rant.

Evan, who has a bunch of grass and something similar to a dad and a reason to be nervous, says, “Oh, um. Okay,” like it’s kind of not okay but he isn’t going to do anything about it. He needs a-- he needs, like, a cellphone. They’ve gotta find him a cellphone.

“We’ll find you a cellphone later,” Connor tells him. “Like a-- like mine,” he says, holding his iPhone for Evan to see. Evan nods slowly.

“Just. Stay right here, I won’t go far. I’m just gonna look,” he says again.

“Okay,” Evan says again. Connor sits there, unsure of what he’s waiting for. Maybe death.

“Okay.”

He stands and walks off in a direction.

Connor encounters many things-- a flock of geese, a mountain man with a baby strapped to his chest, a couple of girls wearing short sleeves and enthusing about something in Spanish. Zoe and Jared are none of these, probably. Jared could pass for a goose. Or a baby. But not this time.

He considers just heading back home, because this weird radio silence from both Zoe and Jared is not really fun or cute, and this place is itchy itchy itchy and Connor is feeling gross and Evan is not really having the time of his life either. Whatever weird and awful paranoia Evan is having must be contagious because Connor can’t stop rubbing his arms and feeling like every dog-walker he sees must be following him. Adrenaline is, like. Not helpful right now. He needs a fucking Xanax. He probably wouldn’t ever be trusted with a Xanax. Fuck Xanax, okay, whatever. He’s inside-out and some asshole keeps trying to climb out of his chest. Wherever Zoe is right now, Connor hopes she gets a migraine. Jared, too, but that’s already a given.

Five minutes or something pass. It’s cold, and the park is not crowded, so Connor only runs into a few more people. None of them are correct. He texts Zoe one more time, gives her a couple of minutes or maybe seconds to respond. Uselessly, she does not. Connor, resigned but actually more irritated than resigned, heads back to the pond.

  


Yippee, because Evan is not there when he gets back.

Okay, so Connor is like. Very sure that this is the same duck pond he told Evan to wait at. He’s ninety-nine percent sure, and that one percent leaves room for the possibility that he’s walked across a wormhole into another timeline or somehow gotten lost and made his way to a different identical duck pond, but again, he’s ninety-nine percent sure that this is the right place. So where the fuck is Evan?

“Evan?” he calls. He’s an idiot and Evan has been kidnapped. The bad people found him. Goodbye to Evan. Oh, my god.

“Hi,” says Evan.

Connor, startled, turns and looks around. “Where-- oh.”

His gaze lands on a nearby willow tree. Evan is perched on one of the branches, like a bird, or an assassin.

“Evan, why-- what are you doing?”

Evan, kind of far away, shrugs. He’s taken his sunglasses off and keeps folding them in and out. He looks suave, but less so. Connor sighs and goes over.

He looks upwards. “...You like trees?” he attempts, which seems like the right thing to do. Evan shrugs.

“Yeah,” he eloquates.

“Oh.”

Connor joins him. Tree-climbing is a messy thing that he doesn’t really do at all except for today. And he’s skinny and stuff, like a. I don’t know, like a snake with arms or a tall baby deer, and a snake with arms is probably called a lizard, but the point is that it takes a long time for him to hoist himself up, even though Evan seems to have done it without much trouble. Evan moves over to make room. Connor’s legs dangle, and Evan adjusts himself so that his do the same. They are not sitting on a bench.

“How come you climbed all the way up here?” goes Connor.

“Oh,” Evan whispers. His right foot kicks his left ankle. “I wanted to just. I got nervous? Wanted to hide.”

Connor nods. “Well, that’s-- okay, well. It worked.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t-- don’t, like. Say that.” And there’s more after that, something shaped like _I shouldn’t have left you alone like that and also I’m pretty fucking freaked out too,_ but then it, y’know. Doesn’t get molded quite right and Connor just leaves it alone.

“Okay.” Evan pulls and pulls his sunglasses like he’s trying to see just how far he can bend them without them breaking. Connor cringes, kind of, because they will send little plastic splinters flying everywhere if they break, and that’s. Tense.

“Can I see?” Connor asks, holding a hand out for the glasses. Evan stops bending. He nods slowly and hands them over.

Connor folds and unfolds them a couple times, lips pursed. And then he reaches over and sticks them onto the trunk of the tree. Which bends them, but not too much, and they stay.

“The tree has eyes,” says Evan, which is oddly a relevant metaphor.

“The tree has eyes,” Connor agrees.

They quietly sit in a tree with sunglasses. Evan is kind of tense and holding his breath, but every now and then in will whoosh out and then back in again. He’s leaning back and maybe is going to fall, so Connor keeps an eye out in case he needs to like. Catch him. Actually, he probably wouldn’t catch him, he’d probably just get dragged down with him and they would both crash into the ground and maybe break their arms or necks or something?

“Can you fly?” Connor checks.

Evan whooshes. “What?”

“If one of us fell or something, would you. You know, ‘cause you have powers and stuff, would you be able to like, catch--”

“Don’t-- please don’t jump out of this tree,” Evan cuts in, lips pursed, eyebrows knitted worriedly.

“I’m _not,”_ Connor says defensively. “But, you know, hypothetically…”

Evan looks down at the ground. He’s leaning forward, now, and his legs stretch like someone on a swingset who is about to leap off, like he’s saying _let’s find out._ He doesn’t jump, though, which is the healthy thing to do.

“I’m not. Sure?” He’s frowning, gaze directed back at Connor, now. “It, um. Would be hard.”

Evan’s shoulders are all tensed up and his arms are straight lines, hands planted on either side of him. He keeps looking at Connor with concern.

“Okay.” Connor nods. “You can-- I’m not gonna jump.”

Evan looks away, swallowing, like he’d been caught doing something bad. “Okay.”

They quietly sit in a tree with sunglasses.

“What kind of plants did you have?” Connor hears himself say. It comes out in a whisper. Evan appears kind of startled.

“What kind of-- plants--”

“Yeah, you--” Connor clears his throat. “You said, about the drawings--”

“Oh,” Evan murmurs. His eyes are downcast, and they are green, and he is real, even when it kind of feels like he isn’t. “I did.”

“Yeah, so.” Connor doesn’t look at Evan’s eyes anymore. He does a different fun thing, which is called awkwardness and regret. “What kind of--”

“Yeah, I--” Evan starts to say, then looks kind of startled at himself for cutting Connor off, but he keeps going. “Just. Small, like. Like this, but-- but smaller.”

“A tree?”

Evan nods.

“That’s really cool.”

“I guess.”

“Was it, like. One of those-- um.” Connor kicks. “I forget the name but, you know, the little. I think they’re Japanese?”

Evan falters, sagging a little. “Oh, I-- don’t know much Japanese,” he admits.

“I-- well I mean neither do I, but.” Connor pauses. His brain needs air. “Okay, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t--” Connor goes, but he stops. Shakes his head. “Yeah, me too, I guess.”

Things happen, but not here, not now. Not today. Not yet. Evan’s nails are bitten and his nail polish is chipped, which Connor can relate to. He’s not a nail-biter, except suddenly now he is? He doesn’t even recall doing that. But then, y’know. He’s supposed to be dead this week, so maybe he’s compensating. He’s not completely sure what the definition of compensation is.

Evan keeps swallowing, moving like he won’t be able to breathe if he stops, leaning forward and forward and forward and forward. Something too foreign to be a bird. Connor thinks about jumping and flying. Falling. Whatever.

“Hey, so,” Connor pipes, nudging Evan with his boot. “It’s not. It doesn’t always hurt you to use your powers, right?”

“Wh-- oh.” Evan ducks his head some more. “No, just. Sometimes.”

“Like when?”

“I don’t know. Moving heavy things. Messages from too far away.”

“Messages from--” Connor frowns, because that’s a thing. “Like. The thing with Zoe’s phone?”

Evan keeps getting smaller and smaller. “Yes?”

“What does that-- what do you mean by that? Messages from far away?”

Evan opens his mouth, closes it. Rubs a sleeve over it. Connor stays quiet, searching for anything. Evan breathes in, words forming--

And Connor’s phone dings.

“Oh,” says Evan.

Well, that’s fucking. That’s almost convenient enough to make Connor throw his phone several meters into the dirt. Wow. He doesn’t throw it, he just takes it out of his pocket, and he doesn’t even need to unlock it to see Zoe’s full message-- _on our way now._

Okay. Yeah. Okay.

Evan has a question on his face, and Connor hesitates.

“Okay, that’s Zoe, she just. We should probably. Get down, now, I guess.”

“Okay.” Evan seems almost relieved.

“Just. Maybe when they get here, you could talk-- you could tell them, y’know, whatever you were gonna--”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees, unconvincingly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Evan is just. Looking at him weirdly, now.

“What?” goes Connor.

“Oh, I’m-- well you kind of have to just--”

Connor, who is stupid, now, I guess, says, “Oh.” He moves over and inches his way down, Evan following behind. Quietly, clumsily on Connor’s part, they both make their way out of a tree with sunglasses. It is not a bench, and neither of them jump.

Evan is paper-white at the bottom of this tree, not lacking color, but just. Sharp in the way he moves, in the work of his jaw, and words are elusive but Evan is sort of freaking out. They don’t sit, they just sort of lean against the base of the tree, which is fair, too. It has the same feeling as waiting in a doctor’s office, but they’re not in a doctor’s office, so at least there’s that.

The sun is setting. It’s probably pretty except Connor is really just annoyed about it, since it means that Zoe and Jared have kept them waiting as long it took for the fucking sun to set. Things are quiet, a toddler shouts in the distance. Evan twists his sleeves, and twists and twists and twists.

Connor breathes, probably. A few minutes later, Zoe and Jared show.

Jared spots them before they spot him, because Connor glances up at one point to see him hurrying over, with Zoe trailing behind. Jared has this weird fucking look on his face, this urgency, and Zoe looks mostly exasperated.

“What the fuck took you so long?” demands Connor. Nobody answers, typically, but atypically, Jared goes straight for Evan, grabbing his shoulder with this rigor, this feeling in his eyes, maybe a type of fear. Evan is utterly alarmed, eyes wide and searching. He makes a small noise which is maybe the Evan-equivalent to _what the fuck?_

In the Connor-equivalent to _what the fuck,_ Connor says, “What the fuck?”

“Jared, wait--” pleads Zoe, catching up. Her hair is falling out of its ponytail, and she’s missing a jacket. Connor doesn’t have sympathy, actually.

“What were you talking about last night?” Jared demands, ignoring Zoe, ignoring Connor, ignoring Evan’s growing panic. “You said-- you said Alana was hiding from-- what was she hiding from?”

“You--” Evan is breathing and breathing and breathing. “Please don’t--

Connor tries to cut in again, something sitting in his chest, something like maybe he kind of _is_ in the same boat as this kid and so fucking what actually? “Kleinman, get the fuck off him, you’re--”

“No, this is fucking important.” Jared keeps his attention locked on Evan, who is looking like he wishes he had not climbed down from that tree, suddenly. Connor looks to his sister for _some_ kind of explanation as to why Jared is acting like-- like he fucking needs to be sedated, but she just sighs, arms crossed over her chest, and keeps her attention trained on Jared.

“Jared, stop,” she attempts, which. Is useless, obviously.

Jared stands his ground. “I’m not _hurting him--_ look, you have to tell me, what is it? What did you say was after her?”

Evan makes another noise. He shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“Jared come _on,_ you can’t just--”

“I’m not gonna _ignore_ this, Zoe--”

“Stop,” says Evan. His head tilts back against the tree.

“Did you fucking hear him?” Connor utters, when Jared does not, in fact, stop.

“I don’t care about his fucking _feelings,_ alright, Alana could be fucking--” Jared waves a hand. “She could be-- whatever that thing was, it could be--”

Something exists, suddenly. “That _thing?”_ Connor looks incredulously to Zoe, who spares him the quickest glance and then clicks her tongue like she hadn’t meant to acknowledge him. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“Ask him!” Jared cries, letting go of Evan and whirling around to face Connor and Zoe. “Since he apparently knows all about this shit, but he won’t tell us a damn thing--”

“Jared--”

Connor and Evan make eye-contact. Evan looks away quickly.

“He needs to talk, this isn’t cute, he’s not a _pet,”_ Jared continues, which isn’t really fair, considering how only yesterday he had barged into the Murphy household uninvited with a, _holy shit, you’re keeping him?_ “This isn’t, like, a game, if he has information about Alana he needs to spill, and he-- and you need to do it _now,”_ he proclaims, turning back on Evan, who is wide-eyed, who is as lost as Connor.

“Okay,” says Zoe, shaking her head. “This is-- guys, this is going nowhere, what if we all just _talk--”_

“He’s not _going_ to talk--”

Connor moves. Something is happening.

“That’s not the-- Connor, what--”

Something is happening, and Jared suddenly also moves, and Zoe is talking very quickly, and then. A different thing happens.

The air whooshes, or maybe snaps. Zoe’s words cut off as Jared falls back a few feet on his tailbone. It’s disorienting and scary to see, until Evan’s hands are shaking and his nose is bleeding and-- well it’s still disorienting and scary but also like, _oh, that’s just Evan,_ now. Connor wonders if superpowers are a thing he’ll ever get used to seeing-- well, mostly he doesn’t do that because his brain is yelling too much to wonder about anything, but. He’s just. He’s sticky. Lots and lots of things exist. He is among those things.

 _“Shit,”_ says Jared, as if he didn’t deserve that. He stands up, dignity most likely on varying levels of intact, but he doesn’t try moving towards Evan again.

“Sorry,” Evan says, looking incredibly guilty, “sorry, sorry, I-- I didn’t mean-- I’m--”

“Don’t,” says someone who might be anyone. Evan nods, coughs, wipes the blood on his sleeve. He’s cloudy and distant but self-conscious enough to not look anyone in the eye. Somewhere else, Zoe is talking to Jared, but Connor moves closer to Evan. He doesn’t quite touch him, but he. Y’know, he, “Hey, you’re. Are you--”

Evan shakes his head. Quietly, “I didn’t mean to--”

“Yeah, that’s. I don’t know, he’s a dick, he shouldn’t have-- I don’t know.”

Evan sighs. It’s just a little puff. Something bleeding and tired. Connor watches, frowning.

“Okay, so.” Zoe takes a big, big breath. Her words are loud. Jared crosses his arms and looks away. “This is-- this is a fucking mess.”

“Fucking-- no shit, Zoe, what the hell?” goes Connor. His emotions do a weird little snap.

“But if you’ll let me _explain--”_ his sister continues, not looking him in the face, or anyone. She tugs her hair-tie loose. Pulls it, more like. Sort of aggressive.

“Fucking enlighten us, Zoe.” Connor stares at his sister, waiting. He’s too many things to be angry. Evan keeps sniffling, and nobody offers him a tissue.

“Alright, so. This is kind of weird.” Zoe looks at Jared. It seems like she’s trying to share a glance, but he doesn’t reciprocate. She sighs. “I don’t want you guys to, like. Don’t freak out, because we’re not even totally sure--”

“I’m sure,” Jared cuts in.

 _“Jared_ is sure,” Zoe continues, through her teeth, “but we don’t--”

“Spit it out, Zoe,” Connor demands. Zoe glares at him. Evan shivers.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” she snaps, but her heart isn’t in it. “Look it’s-- okay, so it might’ve just been an animal or something, but.”

There’s a hesitation. A leap. Something thin passes between them, and the air is still.

“Jared… Jared swears he saw something.”

  


The other side is boundless and hungry, thick and mangled, dark and darker and darker and darker. There are paper spaces to hide in, but the walls are thin, and time creates the inevitable. You can only run for so long before something catches up with you.

Alana Beck is infinitely colder.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right sooo where do I start, um
> 
> I am floored and floored and floored?? everyone has been unbelievably kind and wonderful and I'm really grateful for everyone who has commented and/or messaged me, my tumblr is right below if anyone wanted to be friends or send me an ask or anything you wanted! so okay
> 
> [Gail](http://timebenderss.tumblr.com) my sister and love, this chapter is just for you, thank you for the amazing art, you are wonderful and ily! everyone please check her out because she is talented talented!
> 
> also I got even MORE art from my girl [Harley](https://iwishmyshipswerecanon.tumblr.com), you're incredible and super fun to talk to and your art is top-notch so thank you very much and you are super cool!
> 
> thank you to [Jenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charactershoes) my heart for checking this over, you're so supportive and wonderful even if you metaphorically abuse animals ily
> 
> also if you go to the beginning of chapter one there is a link to a spanish translation of this fic which is so amazing, thank you to kashidean for that, you're so kind and your comments are wonderful
> 
> and obviously thank you to everyone who has left comments/kudos! I have the best best best readers actually, you guys make me so happy and I love you each, sorry for the wait again but you guys are really patient and kind <3 if you wanna let me know your favorite part or line you could, or you could just let me know what you thought, or just tell me how you are or something, I like talking to you guys a lot!
> 
> I actually cannot believe that I've gotten ART, it's amazing and makes me cry and I'm ridiculously grateful, I have the best readers/friends in the world and thank you so unbelievably much, check it out right here: [the rock scene](http://timebenderss.tumblr.com/post/169561495793/) and also [Evan having a nosebleed](https://iwishmyshipswerecanon.tumblr.com/post/169692606889/) and also [the crew in the basement + Zoe and Evan during the cellphone scene](https://iwishmyshipswerecanon.tumblr.com/post/170773033514/)
> 
> I'm sorry I have so much to say on this one but I'm just! really grateful, you are all shining stars, I apologize for this chapter being so short but let me know what you thought!


	5. evan doesn't have a last name so I'm not sure if he should be included in the chapter titles (alternatively, alana beck gets found, kind of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor continues his rock escapade. Zoe makes a weird, impulsive decision, and Evan knows something that the others don't. Jared tries to get things under control, but control has kind of stopped existing. Alana is very quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicide/death mentions but like, more than usual, also panic attacks kinda, I think that's all but please let me know if I need to add anything?? message me for a summary!

Existence is weird, and sometimes “weird” translates to “fucking awful,” but today it just means weird. Connor doesn’t really understand it at all, and that’s not to say that anyone truly does, but most people have enough grasp on the concept to accept it and continue doing it. Connor is pretty sure has lost that grasp, assuming he ever had it in the first place.

Like, okay. Last week he was quietly eyeing his mother’s prescription sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet every time he brushed his teeth. He was checking the date and counting on his fingers every single night. He was using headphones more often, keeping quiet at the dinner table, practicing his absence. That exists. Today, he’s piled into his sister’s car with three other people, one of whom has superpowers, to purposefully and unironically go monster-hunting. That exists, too. It’s just such a… well, he doesn’t know what it is. That’s sort of the thing. He doesn’t know how he feels about it, either. Doesn’t he?

Jared Kleinman won’t shut his fucking mouth, so maybe he does.

“I’m Jared Kleinman and I saw a fucking deer down the street from Alana’s parents’ house so god knows we all have to start panicking, call a goddamn SWAT team while I whine like my dick is being chewed off,” says Jared. Technically he does not say that, but it sums up what he _is_ saying pretty well. Zoe kind of looks very ready to crash this car and kill herself. Evan is in the backseat with Connor, staring miserably out the window, the side of his face planted on his hand like someone who is tired and covered in blood, which is not inaccurate. Connor keeps glancing over at him for seconds at a time, sorta like _hey, Jared is so dumb, right? By the way if you could give me a sign that you aren’t literally brain-dead right now that would be fun but no pressure I guess._

This is a weird day. They are having a weird day.

“It was on Linden.”

“Yeah, I _know,_ Jared.”

“You missed a turn already--”

“I know the way to my fucking girlfriend’s house.”

Evan gives the briefest sigh, a little huh _-huh,_ in and out. It’s quiet for roughly one second.

“I know what I saw, okay, this isn’t, like--”

_“Okay--”_

“You guys don’t believe me or whatever, I’m not an idiot, but--”

“Jared,” Connor breaks in. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah, okay, _you_ can stay out of this,” Jared says, turning in his seat to glare at Connor. “Fuckin’-- you don’t even care what happens to Alana, you’re too obsessed with your new _pet--”_

“Hey, _fuck_ you.”

Evan does another quick sigh thing. Like hyperventilating, but softer. Also, he’s not hyperventilating.

“Okay, we’re all stressed and I acknowledge that, but if I hear another word out of either of you I’m pulling this car over,” Zoe warns, tilting her head.

Jared barks out an ugly, deformed laugh. “Fuck _me,_ not a single  _block_ away from where we’re headed?” he says, smartly, with charm and charisma. Connor, who is starting to agree with Evan, sighs and tilts his head against the window.

The car swerves elegantly as Zoe pulls into the first driveway she sees.

“Wait, what are you--”

She backs out and turns around, driving off in the other direction, despite Jared’s loud protests. Evan just stares and stares out his window, looking more miserable by the second. He still needs a tissue. Connor feels for him, deeply.

The car stops abruptly, down near the beginning of the street. Everyone lurches. An old dude looks on from his yard.

“Okay. Get out.” Zoe says, glaring ahead, making no move to do so herself. No one moves for maybe one minute or maybe one second, because they are interchangeable, and it doesn’t really make a difference in this instance. And then Jared unbuckles his seatbelt in this aggressive way like he’s trying to give it whiplash before he gets out of the car, slams the door, and begins to walk.

Zoe glances at Connor and Evan through the rearview mirror. “Evan, do you--”

“No,” Evan utters, not waiting around to hear the rest of the question. Without missing a beat, he heads out of the car, methodically, not glancing at either sibling on his way out, and he has the right idea. Connor follows.

They make it, like, a quarter of the way down the street before they hear another car door slam behind them.

Connor and Evan walk at a good pace, one that allows them to avoid both Jared and Zoe at equal distance. Linden is, like. They used to call it “in-between street” when they were kids, because it’s sort of in-between neighborhoods? You’ll have several streets of houses, and then Linden, and then more houses, but there aren’t any houses on Linden, not even a sidewalk. It’s bordered by this little patch of woods, with almost but not-quite a full canopy of leaves and branches overhead, and it’s a little glowy when the sun is right. Scenic stuff, kind of. There’s a lot of potholes. For a while it was magic, and then it was haunted, and then it was just a normal street. Now, apparently, it’s haunted again, according to Jared.

Connor feels like-- it’s an arm-crossing type of mood. He crosses his arms and keeps them like that. He feels slightly better, but not really. This is stupid.

They’re just standing there. Dying yellow light splinters in, making patterns out of shadows, making silhouettes out of branches. Zoe takes her time catching up, eyes on the pavement, one hand tugging on her necklace and the other around her middle. Her shoulders are tensed up. Her sneakers are dirty. No one is saying anything. It’s cold.

Connor turns back to Jared, who looks less sure, all of a sudden, looking at the ground with his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. Connor doesn’t know whether to feel smug or annoyed. He’s already annoyed.

“Okay, go,” he utters, with pointed sincerity.

Jared’s head snaps up and he glares heatedly. “You know, you’re not being cute right now?”

“You dragged us all out here, I just want to know what _for,”_ he presses. Jared breathes in like he’s gonna retort, except then he just breathes out and closes his mouth, which is among the most helpful things he could be doing, actually. Connor accepts it.

Zoe steps in, joining the circle. They are standing in the middle of the street, Connor observes. Someone should run them over. Zoe re-does her ponytail, and she’s looking at the trees, which are not benches, and they are also very purposefully not Connor or Evan or Jared. “Jared, what’s your plan?” she questions, but she doesn’t really say it like a question. She says it like _you’re eating into my band practice time and I’m not wearing a coat and I want to go home so hurry the fuck up and tell us what we’re even doing here._ Connor doesn’t sympathize, exactly, but he still appreciates it.

“My… plan,” says Jared, who does not have a plan. “Well, I figured we could just, like, look around, I mean...”

He looks like someone who feels like an idiot, so at least he’s self-aware. Nobody is surprised by his response, but Connor and Zoe sigh anyway. Evan... just stands there. Like a cardboard cutout of Evan, but more fidgety. Connor nudges him to make sure he’s still breathing. Evan looks at Connor, questioning, and he might not be breathing. He needs a tissue.

“It was in the trees, so we should probably split up and check--” Jared goes.

“‘Split up?’” Connor repeats, incredulous. “How far do you expect us to go?”

Jared squints. He’s ugly. “Next time I want your opinion, I’ll _ask,_ thanks--”

“Definitely,” Zoe cuts in. “This argument is going somewhere. Yeah.”

“Zoe,” Connor tries to reason, which is another cool thing that he doesn’t usually, “you _know_ he’s fucking crazy--”

“I know that we’re standing next to a kid with-- with _superpowers_ right now, Connor.” She huffs and looks at the sky, like maybe she will find some answers up there, or like she would, ideally, but she doesn’t. “Yesterday, Jared threw my cellphone at Evan’s face and I thought he was crazy then, too. But here we are, and I just. Look, I’m not saying I think-- like, yeah, it was probably just an animal, but we have to _entertain_ the possibility--”

She huffs again. “It won’t kill us to just-- ten minutes. Okay?” She looks between Connor and Jared. “We’ll look for ten minutes, and then go home?”

 

So, they. Y’know, they just sort of end up awkwardly wandering around this small patch of land, like idiots, doing the exact kind of thing that would be cute if they were five?

“Jared, what is it we’re looking for exactly?” Zoe asks, patiently, which Jared doesn’t really deserve at all in Connor’s opinion.

There is a lull. And then, “I don’t know? It was. Big, I don’t-- I mean, I only saw it for a second.”

Fuck. God. Connor severely wants to. To pick Evan up and throw him, or something. He raises his eyebrows, lifts his arms, and gives a high-pitched, “Well then what the fuck are we even--”

“Connor,” Zoe says, actually with _less_ patience, “you agreed. Ten minutes.”

“He doesn’t even know what he _saw,_ Zoe.”

And yet, in tandem with the “yeah whatever Connor Murphy is stupid anyway it’s not like he’s ever once been reasonable” attitude, nobody cares. Connor helplessly looks back at Evan, who probably gets it, but he only shrugs, and that doesn’t provide anything other than a shoulder movement. Connor sighs and kinda gives up.

Things are not loud, after that. Evan is ghostly quiet-- weirdly quiet, actually. Connor keeps checking back to make sure he’s even still there. He sticks relatively close to Connor, who allows him, obviously. His hands stay in his pockets, hood still up, and he keeps sniffling, eyes downcast. Clearly, he is not participating, which is fine. Jared is a man on a goddamn mission, unironically tramping around in his search for fucking bigfoot and simultaneously pissing Connor off in more degrees by the second. Zoe walks around and politely scans the treeline. In other words, she is kindly humoring Jared, kind of in the same way that a parent checks under their kid’s bed for monsters. Connor picks up a rock, checks the underside, and puts it back down. Repeats.

“Connor, I seriously doubt you’re gonna find the monster under a rock,” Zoe points out.

She’s right, he’s being fucking absurd. What was he even thinking, god. Connor, the ignorant buffoon, frowns and chucks the rock into the creek. It lands with a deep “sploshing” kind of noise. Evan looks on with mild interest. They keep walking.

With vigor and enthusiasm, nothing happens. For ten minutes. Which is exactly the amount of time it usually takes for nothing to happen.

Zoe sighs and checks her phone. “Have you guys noticed anything?”

“No,” says Connor, flatly.

“No, but--”

“It’s been ten minutes, Jared.” Zoe types something on her phone. Y’know, like she cares. “Maybe we should head home.”

“Hold on, but. Guys, I swear something was here--” Jared protests.

Zoe sighs and stuffs her phone back into her pocket. “We said ten minutes. And it’s getting dark out--”

“It’s been dark out.”

“Thanks, Connor. Look, we’re not gonna find anything with no daylight, and it’s not really safe to be hanging around near the place where someone went missing after dark anyway?”

This seems to make Jared shut up, because she’s right.

“Fine. Okay, whatever,” he. Well ‘agrees’ is not really the right word. ‘Passive aggressive’ needs a verb tense.

“Jared--” Zoe starts.

“Forget it, let’s leave.” Jared starts marching back towards the road. Connor is fed up with him, but the need to just. Go home and die, or maybe stare at the ceiling and eat potato chips in bed and actively not die, overpowers.

He doesn’t even make it a few steps, however, when he notices something glinting and silver on the ground, among a bunch of soggy leaves. He’d ignore it, but at second glance it looks. Kind of familiar? He squints and picks it up.

“Zoe, you dropped your necklace,” he calls.

“What?” There’s a hesitation. “No, I didn’t.”

“Okay.” Connor shrugs, and the necklace is dropped. He keeps walking.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Zoe bounds over. “Let me-- where-- oh my god, did you drop it?”

“Yes?” Connor sighs and turns around slowly. His patience levels are dropping like. Wow they are just dropping so fast that he’s not going to think of an analogy, actually. “You said it wasn’t yours.”

“Connor, where is it?” she-- well he wants to say ‘asks’ but maybe ‘pleads’ is the right word? Her lips are parted, eyebrows knitted. Connor is confused.

“Well, I didn’t _throw_ it--”

“No, seriously, wait. Get Jared,” she demands, and then crouches down to scan the ground. This is such a stupid day. Connor sighs again.

“Jared,” he calls.

“What?”

“Zoe is freaking out,” he elaborates. There is a tiny pause.

“I… don’t care?”

“Oh,” Zoe utters. It’s more of a noise than a word. When Connor turns to her, she’s holding the necklace, looking at it like it’s. Literally Alana Beck, which.

“Wait, did you see something?” Jared calls, suddenly caring, and then he’s walking over towards them.

Connor doesn’t quite know how to answer him. “...Maybe? I… Zoe, what the fuck--”

“This is hers,” Zoe murmurs. She stands up and fumbles for her own necklace. “Look, they-- see, we have matching ones, and--”

“Oh,” Connor agrees quietly.

“What?” Jared announces.

“I found Alana’s necklace,” Zoe breathes.

Connor frowns and does not correct her to say that actually _he_ was the one who found the necklace, and look who is taking the credit, because. This is a situation, sort of? He’s kind of unsure of what he’s supposed to do in this situation, so he looks at Evan, who is wide-eyed and quiet with blood still under his nose, standing out against his face, which is pale today. Or maybe all the time.

 _“What?”_ says Jared, again, with feeling.

“It’s broken,” Zoe whimpers, dangling the chain in front of her face with a manicured hand. And it’s-- it’s true, the chain implies that the necklace had been yanked off, actually, which speaks for itself.

Connor looks at Evan again, who makes a face like _why do you keep looking at me dude?_ So Connor looks at Zoe, who is horrified, and then Jared, who seems shocked mostly? No one is talking. There is a lot of staring going on.

“We.” Connor clears his throat. “We should show the cops? I guess?”

The staring is directed at him, now. Nothing is happening.

“You’re right,” Zoe whispers. She nods and puts the necklace in her pocket. “We’ll take it to the police station.” She hasn’t stopped nodding. There’s a break. A small one. “Um. Jared, are you coming?”

“Oh, I mean. Yeah? Obviously?” Jared shifts uncomfortably.

“Okay,” says Zoe. She’s stopped nodding, by now. Her hand keeps moving in her pocket, around the necklace, making sure that it’s still there. “We have to-- yeah. Come on.”

They walk to the car, awkwardly. Connor and Evan fall back, side by side, and neither of them really know how to act. Ever, but mostly now. They are both grappling.

Connor bumps shoulders with Evan, who jumps, like he’s startled. Connor frowns.

“You good?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” says Evan.

“...You know my house is like a block away, we could just--”

“I’m okay,” Evan insists. His eyes stay trained on the pavement. Connor is not sure what to do, or how he feels.

“Okay,” Connor whispers.

Evan hesitates. “Unless you want to--”

“You know, I kind of do?” Connor makes a face. “But this is. I guess-- I don’t know. Let’s just-- I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Evan whispers. There’s silence after that, but it’s more mutually agreed to than awkward.

The road is charcoal gray but it looks deep blue, and Connor thinks that a lot of things are less ugly in the dark. He kicks a pebble and it scitters downhill a little. The old guy is not in his yard anymore. He was super old, and Connor wonders if maybe he died within the time it took for them to leave and come back. Probably not. That’s probably a-- a super fuckin’ weird thing to wonder about. He kicks another pebble, or the same one, maybe, because he wasn’t keeping track.

 

Minutes later, they are stopped at a red light next to a 7-11. Indie music drones quietly, more quietly than the sound of Zoe’s fingers worriedly tapping the wheel, overall quieter and less palpable than Zoe’s worry itself. Evan covers the lower half of his face and sniffles like he doesn’t want to make too much noise, and there are police sirens coming from somewhere further down the road. They are headed to the police station, to turn in Alana Beck’s dirty, broken necklace, which they found on the ground, in the same spot Jared where thought he’d seen a monster, after they found a teenager with superpowers in the woods, after Connor sat down on a park bench with a plan to commit suicide, after Alana Beck went missing. Things exist-- in fact, things are happening currently. It sucks.

Zoe stops tapping. The police sirens get louder. She sits up, and something must change in her face, because suddenly Jared turns to her and says, “What? What’s wrong?”

As Zoe ignores his question, Connor and Evan share an attentive glance.

“Zoe?” Jared presses.

“I have a bad feeling,” Zoe mutters, half-present. Something is wrong.

“You have a--? Hey, pull over,” Jared tells her. He’s leaning forward a little, eyes nervously scanning her face for signs of nausea, or I’m-gonna-pass-out-and-crash-the-car, or probably both. “I can drive, if you--”

“No,” she interrupts. The sirens get louder. “I have to--” Her fingers tense around the wheel. Something is increasingly wrong. “I have a feeling.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jared asks.

“Trust me,” Zoe utters, and Connor immediately does not trust her, “I have to--”

“Zoe,” Connor pipes, “what the--”

An ambulance rushes by, sirens blaring, and Zoe slams the gas pedal.

 _“--Fuck?_ Zoe!”

Evan makes a startled noise. In fact, they all make a startled noise, in some form or another.

 _“Zoe!”_ Jared has grabbed hold of his little roof handle thing for dear life. Connor and Evan have not, and they are both fearless-- but more importantly, they are chasing after a fucking ambulance. Zoe has gone out of her mind. Connor thinks that this is finally his time to lie down and die. Jared is yelling like his lungs will soon be out of use. This day is _peachy._

“Slow _down,_ where are you _going?”_ Jared cries. Zoe does not answer, because she has gone out of her mind.

Connor looks at Evan, who is terrified. This is an inconvenient coincidence for him. He could’ve been found by anyone else, he could’ve. He could’ve been found by some nice, normal siblings named-- named Dennis and Becca, who liked music and sports and mental stability and rational thinking, who were not the type to sit on benches or chase ambulances due to, like, a sudden burst of suicidal inspiration. Then, would Dennis and Becca have taken Evan straight to the police? Probably. His name would probably still be Eleven, too. Maybe an ideal situation doesn’t exist for Evan.

Oh, yeah, he still hasn’t told Zoe and Jared about th--

“What is wrong with you?” Jared bursts, eyes switching rapidly between the road ahead and Zoe’s face. “This is insane, you’re paranoid because of the necklace, that doesn’t mean--”

“Shut _up,”_ Zoe snaps. “Just-- shut up, okay?”

 _“Sure!_ Yeah, I’ll ‘shut up,’ we’re speeding after a goddamn ambulance but I’ll just sit here quietly--”

“You’re not helping, Jared!”

“Helping _what?_ Helping you break the law and crash the car? Because I think we have very different intentions, here, Zoe--"

It’s more of this. Connor and Evan glance at each other periodically. It’s sort of hard to make _haha-look-at-these-crazy-kids_ jokes when you are fearing for your safety? Connor shrugs when they make eye-contact, but then he stays like that, so his shoulders are just all tensed up, now.

Eventually, they end up at the entrance to a state park across town. Zoe backs up until they are far enough away from the scene for her liking, and then she parks. She hastily gets out of the car and starts off, Jared following and calling after her.

Connor and Evan look at each other, slowly.

“Shit,” Connor utters.

“Shit,” Evan agrees quietly.

They both look away, equally as slow. Nothing is happening. Absolutely nothing at all.

Connor turns back to Evan. “Are you… okay?”

Evan looks down at himself in a kind of. Like a self check-up. There’s some air, and then Evan nods.

“I’m okay.”

Connor also nods. “Okay. Me too, I guess. Um. Should we--”

“I guess,” Evan whispers.

They share one last glance, equally stupid, and then climb out of the car. They are very in-sync, falling into step in the center of the road. There aren’t any street lights around, but red and blue flashes in patterns from down the road. Connor wonders how bad it would be if he and Evan just. Took the car and booked it, ditching Zoe and Jared, and he thinks it would be pretty bad, but then here’s the next question-- does he care?

“Zoe,” he calls, spotting his sister ducked down with Jared near the parking lot. She whirls around immediately, wide-eyed, gesticulating for him to shut the fuck up. He rolls his eyes, but complies.

He and Evan, surprisingly the only two sane people left in this situation, join Zoe and Jared in quietly watching police and paramedics meddle with equipment.

“How much longer do you want us to wait here?” Jared quietly demands. Zoe ignores him, squinting out towards the scene before them. This is starting to feel really fucking creepy. Connor checks behind him, periodically, because this is absolutely a time during which they would be snuck up upon. At night. In the woods. At a crime scene. Well, that last one might've been an assumption, but--

“Alana?” Zoe breathes. Connor starts.

“What?” He worriedly follows her gaze out towards the park entrance, where a stretcher is being carried, where paramedics are rushing over. His skin is crawling.

“It’s not her,” Jared utters, shaking his head. “But we-- this is enough, okay? Let’s--”

Zoe stands up. Jared tries to pull her back down, to no avail. Connor also stands up.

“We need to leave,” he murmurs, but he can’t stop staring. His view of the body is obscured by paramedics.

Zoe shakes Jared off. She walks forward, despite everyone’s protests.

“Zoe, it’s not-- it’s not her, we have to--”

Someone stops speaking. It doesn’t matter who. There’s a shift-- there are a lot of shifts, all in one moment, folding into the tip of a pin, but first there is the shift of a paramedic with bright hair, someone who could be anyone, as she moves to help with the ambulance doors. She disappears very suddenly as something else takes up her space in Connor’s line of vision, in the beat of his heart, something new. Braids, broken glasses, familiar eyes. Eyes made out of glass. Eyes that can't see anything.

After that shift, and all the other shifts, there is a lull. It feels like the space between the sky and the ground after you’ve closed your eyes and jumped from a platform without thinking.

Zoe _screams._

_“ALANA!”_

No.

“Hey! You kids need to get back--”

This… no, hold on--

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me-- _Lana--”_

Doesn’t make _sense--_

Zoe releases some strained, aching, guttural cry. “She’s-- _no--”_

“You guys can’t be here--”

“No, we’re leaving. We’re _leaving,”_ says some voice.

There’s a stretcher, there’s a bag, there’s-- she’ll suffocate--

“Murphy, get your ass in the car, we’re going.”

Connor turns around. His sister is having a panic attack, and Jared is gripping her elbow. Evan is… somewhere, or maybe he isn’t, and honestly, Connor wouldn’t be surprised. Reality is disoriented and it’s probably his fault. Zoe is facing Jared, frantic white noise coming out of her.

And then, as abrupt as the swerve of a car or the rattle of sleeping pills pouring over one another as the bottle is tilted, Evan is there again, touching Connor’s arm so tentatively like he thinks he’s gonna-- like Connor is gonna-- he’s shaking his head, and he’s crying. He can’t stop crying.

“That’s wrong,” Evan gets out. Connor stares down at his face, at the knitted tilt of his eyebrows, the wide desperation in his eyes, the strain of crying on his lips, spilling and spilling. “That’s-- wrong.”

Connor agrees. But he doesn’t-- he can’t--

“Murphy, get in the _fucking car.”_

She’s so-- he turns back to Alana, who is limp, whose face he does not catch, whose clothes are covered in dirt. Her braids dangle, her hand dangles, there is silver dangling from her neck. She’s not here. She might not be anywhere, but--

“Connor, I swear to fucking god--”

“But this isn’t real,” he blurts, before Jared Kleinman yanks him by the arm and drags him back away from-- from a lot of things. A lot of things are happening. But they aren’t--

“Wait. What about--” Connor tears himself away from Jared, except he actually doesn’t, he just stops moving for a second. “Hold on-- Evan--”

“He’s not coming. He can’t come.” Jared keeps walking, but Connor doesn’t, so they are sort of stuck. Zoe is pliant. She is also having a panic attack. She probably isn’t here right now.

“What do you mean he--”

“He’s crazy,” Jared spits, or snarls. “There’s something seriously wrong with his head. He’s insane, he’s a goddamn _liar--”_

Jared lets go of Connor, and Zoe too, and one arm goes around his stomach and one over his mouth as he. He keels over a little like he might throw up, but he doesn’t throw up, and this whining noise comes out of his mouth instead, and Connor looks back at Evan, who is rooted where he stands, who has not moved, and he is still spilling, he’s tilted over and it’s all falling out--

“Evan, come on.”

Evan does not. He’s shaking his head, and Connor doesn’t know what that means, because Connor doesn’t really know what anything means, but he does know that Evan is getting in the car with them, even if-- well.

Connor grabs both Zoe and Jared by the arm. He drags them back to the car, opens the door to the backseat, and helps them in. Zoe immediately curls up and Jared sits bent over, with his face in his hands. He’s gonna get scoliosis. Alana might not be breathing anymore. Connor closes the door.

“Evan, come _on.”_

Evan just-- well. It doesn’t really matter what Evan is doing, because there are a couple of paramedics making their way over to him. Connor wishes he weren’t frozen. Or, he’s not really frozen, just weighted. There’s a difference. Weighted means that he can struggle. Weighted is those nightmares where you-- when you’re being chased, and you’re trying to run, but you-- everything is so fast around you--

 _“Evan,”_ Connor pleads. He can’t feel his hands. Or, he doesn’t, at least.

One of the paramedics puts a hand on Evan’s back and gestures towards the car. She says something, but Connor doesn’t catch it. Apparently, this is enough to terrify Evan into gear, as he starts towards Connor without a word to the paramedic.

“Okay. Here. Okay.” Connor takes Evan by the wrist. He doesn’t know how to feel, other than sick. “Come on. Here.”

He helps Evan into the passenger seat. Evan won’t look at him, or maybe can’t. Connor heads around to the driver’s side and gets in.

“He can’t come,” Jared utters, muffled, face still covered by his hands. Connor ignores him. Zoe is sobbing in the back.

They drive away, leaving behind an ambulance and some confused, tilted version of Alana Beck. Things rattle, despite being nonexistent and undetermined. Connor isn’t equipped to acknowledge this. He keeps driving.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy, oh wow, what on earth,
> 
> alright okay so those of you who have already watched the show probably know what's up, or at least you think you do (like I said this thing is gonna diverge more and more as it goes on!!). did I just kill alana? stay tuned to find out oh boy
> 
> thank you very very much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed! thanks so much for your patience oof
> 
> leave a comment if you like monster hunting, please tell me what you thought and you'll be my best friend automatically (fave lines/parts are wonderful), aaaand I love you!
> 
> go ahead and message/ask me on tumblr with questions, or if you just wanna chat and be pals, I'm friendly, dustyspacekid.tumblr.com is me
> 
> thanks!!
> 
> edit: thank you very much to harley for educating me about roof handles, they are called "oh shit" handles for those of you who did not know

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is right over [here](http://dustyspacekid.tumblr.com) (dustyspacekid.tumblr.com if you are iffy about links, I am sometimes) and please message me or send an ask if you want to!!


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